


Holy War

by redradioflyer



Series: Holy War AU [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Brotherhood, F/M, Goddess pantheon origin story, Gods, M/M, fade to black sex scene, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:15:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 53,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redradioflyer/pseuds/redradioflyer
Summary: A feud between Olympian style gods is sparked when Matthew is saved by his god during a sacrifice to the God of War, and things get more complicated when Matthew’s brother Alfred tries to rescue him. Honestly, though, the God of War ends up way more interested in feisty little Alfred as the human tries to make his way up to Heaven to rescue his brother.Human lives are very fragile, and gods can be flippant and careless at the best of times. What will happen to Matthew and Alfred now that the gods have deigned to interfere?





	1. The Ceremony

**Author's Note:**

> BIG IMPORTANT NOTE: Jule is 2p!Canada and Cyril is 2p!America.

“ _Keep your eyes closed throughout the ceremony,”_ his god had told him. “ _They will slaughter the warriors they have captured and seal you in the ceremonial chamber.”_

Matthew had kept his eyes closed as the priests had lead him to the top room of the Temple of Cyril, and he kept them shut as they bound his hands and feet to what felt like a stone slab. Around him, the chamber resonated with screams of pain and the sickening sound of blades slicing through flesh and crashing against bone. He had even felt warm blood splatter onto his skin from a victim of the rite, but not even that startled him into opening his eyes.

“ _If you see even one part of his ceremony, there are three fates that could befall you:  Cyril will come to judge the sacrifice to him. If he likes you, he will take you to his dwelling to serve him. If he doesn’t, he’ll dismember you to show to his followers that he is master. If you are so unworthy as a sacrifice that he doesn’t come to you, you will suffocate in the ceremonial chamber, and the ceremony must be done again._ "

None of these fates particularly appealed to him. Even living in the luxury of a god’s palace held no comfort to him if he were serving a god other than the one he’d dedicated his life to. He had been one of the many temple boys who’d served at the Temple of Jule, the god of sleep, music, and the arts. When his city state had been attacked, he’d been captured to serve as a sacrifice to another god, but he’d spent the night praying to Jule to save him. In the wee hours of the morning, his god had came to him and told him what he must do.

“ _But if you can keep your eyes closed and you do not see the rites and symbols of my brother’s ritual, I will come to you and take you to my palace before Cyril comes for you. Even the smallest peek of the sacraments being performed would bind you to that place until he finds you. Do you understand?”_

Matthew had understood, and he had spent the tortuous time bound with his eyes tightly clenched shut as his fellow city-men had been slain around him. He’d heard the door being sealed, and he had still not opened his eyes.

Which brings him to the present moment- Matthew lays on the slab with his eyes tightly closed as his muscles ache in protest from being bound.  His heart is racing with fear, and bile is rising in his throat from the sharp scent of blood and death in the air around him. He wails in anguish for his god to come to him, and even then he keeps his eyes closed.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a gentle hand comes to rest on his forehead, and Jule says to him, “Alright, you can open your eyes now.”

Then the ropes fall away, and Matthew opens his eyes to find himself in a sparsely decorated but luxurious room. His god is standing over him-  with his golden blond hair and sleepy purple eyes and radiating a gentle warmth. Matthew does the unthinkable- he throws away decorum and hugs his lord tight around the waist, burying his face against his stomach. At least this show of disrespect does not bother the god, and Jule simply comforts Matthew with gentle hands and a gruff quiet voice.

— 

When Cyril finds his sacrifice missing, he is furious, but he knows when he’s being played by another god.  A god stole his sacrifice, and that was tantamount of starting a war. That is one of Cyril’s realms after all- war, strength, and heroism. While sure, his followers aren’t necessarily all heroes- some of them are quite villainous in fact-, they are still his followers and he watches over them accordingly.

The boy that had been offered to him was one of the members of Jule’s sleepy cults, and it is most likely that his dear brother is behind the theft of his human. It is rather unlike Jule to play favorites, and to lure his brother down from his place on high to rescue him, Cyril must have been offered a human with singular gifts- artistically or musically.

It takes only a moment to get to Jule’s corner of the Holy Kingdom. Gods travel fast.

He finds his brother spread out on a couch,  writing on a parchment as an eternally young human servant plays the harp for him. “Brother dear, writing sonnets are we?” Cyril asks with a feigned casual air. 

Jule doesn’t look up.

“Busy as ever. But if you could spare a moment, my followers seem to have misplaced a sacrifice meant for me, and I thought you could help me find it.” Cyril's displeasure doesn't show yet, emitting just a placid sort of humor.

 Jule, calm as ever, doesn't immediately answer, looking up only when he's found a stopping point on the page. Then Jule sets his parchment down and turns his eyes toward his brother. “That sounds like a matter to take up with your followers. You are a harsh god. Punish them and demand another.”

“No,” Cyril says, narrowing his eyes at his brother as he finally approaches him. “I rather liked the one they chose- strapping, young, full of wonder and warmth. Just perfect for my collection.”

“There are better sacrifices out there, Cyril. Can there be anything so special about one human that you’d go out of your way to claim this particular one…? unless you’ve taken a liking to the humans?” Jule's sleepy calm gets on Cyril's nerves, because underneath it all, the god of music can be just as fierce as any other when he needs to be. Calm means Jule is completely unconcerned, and that certainly is grating. 

“I took a liking to the humans long ago, Jule-dear, and you know that. Much more interesting than stuffy gods like you,” Cyril replies with a smirk. He runs his hand down along his brother’s shoulder in a gentle caress before gripping roughly at the front of his robe. “So if that is meant to be a barb, it’s a bad one.”  

Jule’s eyes flash with anger for a moment, but it’s quick and soon fading back into a look of sleepy apathy. “Then go look for him yourself, brother. I see no reason to help.”

Cyril growls and jerks his garment again. “Drop the shit, I know you have him, and I came to take what’s mine!!”

“I have done nothing that isn’t my right to do. He is my follower and he saw nothing to bind him to that room,” Jule says with the satisfaction of someone who knows they are right. “You can take this to the Elder Gods, but they will agree with me.”

Even though he has no choice but to concede the point, Cyril doesn’t intend to let this end so easily. Sure, his brother had done this in such a way that Cyril couldn’t  _openly_ declare a feud. Cyril could've if the human had seen the rites before being whisked away, but even though Jule is has played by the rules, Cyril definitely feels like Jule has overstepped his boundaries meddling in this affair.

Cyril would get the human meant for him back, and it is really only a matter of time and planning.

—

When Alfred returns home from the battle, he finds that his brother hadn’t made it into the safety of the city walls before the attack. The few villages that lay outside the wall for farming and agriculture had been captured. Matthew had been outside in the poor villages performing acts of charity in the name of Jule, and he’d been there when the enemy attacked. The guards who stood along the walls to watch for enemies and protect the city had recognized Matthew, and they had seen the cultists drag him away alive.  

There would be only one reason to for Cyril cultists to take his brother captive rather than slay him on the battlefield. He knows enough of the cult of Cyril often take the virgin temple servants of other gods for sacrifice, especially during war.

Alfred had been raised just the same as Matthew had- with a focused worship of the patron god of the their city, Jule. He has worshiped him, same as Matthew, but he’s never been as dedicated to religion as his brother.

That’s why Matthew is a chaste temple boy, and Alfred is a warrior.

Even still, like most people, he has a working knowledge of the worship of all the main deities of the pantheon. Even within his city state, there are followers of many gods. Jule may be the patron god of the city,  but not the only god that all citizens chose to worship. Most people worship many gods at once, and so that means even Cyril has temples dedicated to him within the walls of the city.

The only thing for Alfred to do now is pay a visit to one of those temples to Cyril and demand an audience with him. As a warrior and a hero, Cyril must answer him right?   

Or at least he hopes.

In the early dawn, he goes into the largest Temple of Cyril in their city, and he clears out the main room. Human sacrifice is not strictly necessary for rituals to Cyril, but blood typically is. Alfred has brought one of his family’s best oxen to kill at the altar as a gift to bribe the god into speaking with him. Alfred isn’t even sure if Matthew’s ritual had been performed yet, but he has no way to get into the neighboring city for some daring rescue. He is a shrewd warrior as much as he is brave, and he knows he’d die without completing his task. Taking a well armed city state on even with a sizable army is difficult enough, but on his own, it would be impossible. 

No, an appeal to the god himself would work better.

He raises his dagger about to slide it along the bound ox's neck, but before he can move, a smooth voice interrupts him. “Don’t kill it. It’ll taste much better if I take it back with me alive and butcher it when I’m ready.”

Alfred whirls around, drawing his sword at once. There’s a man with him now who has eyes so red that they fairly glow in the firelight. His skin is tanned from his frequency on the battlefield, and even though he has a smaller build, Alfred can see the from the way that the other walks across the room he’s muscular. The calculating, almost-harsh look in the man’s eyes as Alfred draws his blade leaves him with the intense impression that this man- this god- could best even Alfred in a fight easily.

“Cyril…?” Alfred says slowly, lowering his weapon but not putting it away. “You came.”

“You called,” the god replies. “And I happened to be interested enough to answer. “

“My brother. He’s meant to be sacrificed to you, isn’t he? I want to ask for his safety.” Alfred is a happy-go-lucky sort most of the time even in his war camps, but there’s no trace of that now. His brother is the one person he truly cares about in the world, and this is serious business. He simply must get right to it.

“Not meant to be,” says Cyril. “He already has been.”

Alfred freezes, eyes wide. He knows that if the god wasn’t pleased with his brother or was in a particularly bad mood, Matthew might already be dead. His jaw tightens. If his brother has been murdered, Alfred would fight the bastard who did it even if that bastard is a god.

“And is he… alive?” he asks, raising his sword.

“He is, so you can put your weapon away.” Cyril walks to him now, red eyes flashing with amusement and a smirk twisting his expression. The god’s eyes sweep down along Alfred’s figure, and he appraises him, clearly approving.

Alfred has never been good at social cues, but even he picks up that the god’s expression is full of thinly veiled lust.

“Alright,” he says, and he does just that. No sense in starting a fight with the god that you came to bargain with. “Then I have come today to offer myself in his place. He is a artist and an innocent. You are the god of warriors, and wouldn’t I be able to serve you better?”

“ _Oh you could ** **serve**** me well. Would I ever take that bargain_~.” Just teasing words... but something in his tone seems almost palpable, and it makes Alfred shiver.

Cyril’s hands are on Alfred then, fingers feeling out the muscles of his shoulders and upper arm.

Alfred smiles uncertainly, allowing Cyril to assess him like a bull at market. “So it’s a deal? You’ll let Matthew go?”

“Well, I didn’t say that. I would take that bargain… if I was able.”

“What…? Don’t you have him though?”

“Sadly I do not. He was taken by another god, who wanted him more than even I did.” He arches a brow, and the spark in his eyes tells Alfred that he shouldn’t take anything this god says at face value. “But I can help you get him back~”

“You can?”

“I can. We’d be helping each other out," Cyril says. 

"What do you get out of it?" Alfred asks, hesitant and concerned. 

"I get to annoy the holy fuck out of my own brother," Cyril says. "I'll tell you how find little Matthew, and your sincere effort to get him free... that will accomplish my goal as well. Two birds, one stone." Cyril is grinning as he offers Alfred his hand. Alfred knows that gods (in the stories at least) don’t ever enter into deals that don’t solely benefit them, and he feels like he’s being played.

But this is for Matthew’s sake, and he’d get his brother free and back home if it is the last thing he did.

“Alright,” Alfred says, taking Cyril’s hand and gripping it tight. He jolts a bit at the touch, something almost electric about the feeling of the god’s fingers tightening around his own. He’d think about what that meant later. For now, he just says, “I’ll help you if you help me.”  


	2. Purification and Planning

Matthew’s first day in the Holy City of the Gods is blessedly wonderful. Jule holds him until he feels better, and then he quietly leads Matthew through a grand but tastefully and sparingly decorated marble temple. Perhaps ‘temple house’ would be a more accurate title. This is clearly the home of Jule, and Matthew is inside it being cared for by the god himself.

“I’ll bring you to the baths first,” Jule tells him. “You’ll be given new robes. Sacrificial robes don’t suit you as much as your temple robes.” As he says this, he gives a meaningful glance toward an attendant nearby, and the man slips away dutifully.

Soon Matthew finds himself in a large outdoor bath, steam coming off the water. Flowers and exotic plants grow thickly in the garden around the pool, and the sweet scent of fauna permeates the area. The spectacular beauty of the place gives him pause, captivated, and he admires the general splendor.

Jule doesn’t speak but makes eye contact with Matthew before nodding toward a row of shelves with water jugs, soaps, and towels against the wall. He doesn’t wait for a response before stepping forward and letting his own robe fall and pool at his feet as he approaches the shelves. Matthew can’t help but admire his body. His eyes slide down his back, and he sees that Jule is slender with fit toned muscles. Matthew’s eyes linger on the curve of his ass, but he’s distracted from his appreciation soon enough. Jule’s skin is pale and appears soft and inviting to the touch, but he is not unmarred. There are scars along his back, and Matthew takes a step forward to brush his fingers over one such mark.

The touch makes Jule go rigid for a moment. He turns his head, looking at Matthew from the corner of his eyes. After a long silence, Jule says, “Gods make war as well, Matthew.”

Matthew nods mutely. His expression conveys that this is a point of pain, and Matthew doesn’t wish to pry. With a blush, he takes his robe off. It’s still stained with the blood of his slain comrades, and his stomach churns at the reminder of his ordeal. His attention is pulled back to Jule, though, when he feels eyes on him. He realizes rather suddenly that the god is studying him in his nudity, so he hastens forward to grab a wash cloth for some semblance of modesty.

For some reason, this makes Jule smile. “The water flows down through there,” he says softly. “Fill a water jug and give it to me.”

“Of course,” he says back, moving forward to fill a jug with warm flowing water. When he comes back, Jule is standing next to the shelves and he has a bottle of some sort of soap in his hands. He beckons Matthew to come and stand in front of him. After he has set the jug on the shelf next to Jule, Matthew stands awkwardly in front of him, twisting the wash cloth in his fingers.

Wordlessly, Jule takes the wash cloth from him and soaks it in the water. After he lathers the cloth with soap, he turns and begins to clean the blood and dirt from Matthew’s chest and arms. His whole attention is focused on him, and Matthew can feel his breath on his skin.  

“M-My Lord,” Matthew says, religious piety in overload at this point, and he reaches up to take his wrist. “You shouldn’t dirty your hands washing me. I should be washing you.”

Jule looks down into Matthew’s face, and his eyes hold a sleepy neutral expression that he’s starting to get used to. “I must purify you if you’re going to stay in my home in the Holy City.”

With this, Jule begins to wash him again. He’s incredibly close, and Matthew can feel his breath on his skin again. Jule does a very thorough job, and Matthew has to close his eyes as the cloth slides over more intimate places. It’s a touch he’s never felt, and he bites his lip hard enough to taste blood in his attempt to keep his body from reacting. Once this is done, the god turns his attention to Matthew’s hair and he washes it as well. When Jule is satisfied, he dumps the rest of the water from the jug over Matthew’s body.

“There,” Jule says, pleased. “You are ready. Go and relax in the water.”

Matthew protests instantly. “N-no, My Lord, at least let me return the gesture. Let me clean you.”

“No,” Jule says. “I’m not nearly so chaste as you, Matthew. Go to your bath.” His voice leaves no room for argument, and Matthew obeys.

The full implication of his words hits Matthew as he stumbles toward the bath. He’s quiet until Jule joins him, and he knows his face is bright red. But still he asks the question on his mind. “You are not chaste?”

Jule considers him for a long moment before softly saying, “Don’t worry. I don’t require my followers to worship me with their bodies as well.”

Matthew nods at this, but he’s already come to the realization that he’d eagerly worship this strange quiet god with his body if the other wanted him to.

—

“I can’t bring you straight to the Kingdom of the Gods, you see,” Cyril tells Alfred. “Not when I know that you intend to break into my brother’s temple and steal away one of his young servants.”

“Why not?” Alfred gripes as he tramps up the side of a mountain. “He took my brother straight to the Holy City, did he not?”

“Yes,” Cyril says, smirking at Alfred’s frustration. “But you see that’s different. Matthew is his follower and subscribes to his lazy religion. He isn’t there with any ill intentions. You, on the other hand, are headed there to steal from a god. If I assist you, I’m breaking Heavenly Law.”

The underbrush is getting thicker the higher they go, and Alfred has to pull out a machete to hack his way through. He’s grunting and working, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. The sight is making Cyril grin in a positively lecherous fashion, and he can't quite stop himself from ogling the man.

“You’re a god. You shouldn’t have to listen to laws,” he grumps.

“When humans war, what is forfeit? People? Control of a tiny stretch of land? Maybe a forest or a field gets burned in the crossfire right?”

Alfred pauses to look at him, confusion in his eyes. “Yeah, I suppose so. What’s your point?”

Cyril leans forward and runs his fingertips along Alfred’s jaw. Such a lovely specimen of warrior; just his type. “When gods make war, little hawk, the whole of the Earth and the sky is at risk of utter destruction. We can’t make war so easily. We have laws to keep from destroying the world completely.”

The expression on Cyril’s face and the feel of his fingers on his jaw leaves Alfred frozen for a moment. He can feel power coming from Cyril that thrums into his body. It excites him. Any warrior, he supposes, would be energized from contact with the War God, but it embarrasses him to have such strong reactions when the other touches him. Alfred distrusts gods in general, but Cyril is particularly objectionable. He is lecherous and calculating, and Alfred can’t really decide if he’s even particularly heroic. 

Alfred can’t respect anyone who isn’t as dedicated to their ideals as he and his brother have always been. “Alright, alright, I get it,” he says finally, smacking his hand away.  He starts back up the path. “Just tell me what I must do.”

Cyril’s grin becomes a full smirk. “You’ll have to brave the mountain and fight your way to the top. There are traps- magic and monsters. Trials to struggle through.”

Alfred wipes sweat from his brow. “Oh that it?” he says dryly. “No problem at all. This shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

“Don’t worry. I can’t bring you straight there but I can help you. All you have to do is pray to me.”

“Pray?” Alfred says, distaste written into every feature. “To you?”

“Yes,” he replies. “You can feel my strength can’t you? I excite you.” As he says this, he becomes smug again and he leans in far too close to Alfred again. “Don’t deny that.”

“I don’t need your strength,” Alfred says finally, taking a step back and raising to full height and gripping his machete. “I can do this.”

“I believe it, little hawk,” Cyril says back. “But if you ever need, just pray to me. I’ll be at your side instantly.”

Then he gives a mock bow to Alfred before he’s gone in a blink of an eye. Alfred takes a few long minutes to compose himself before he starts on up the mountain again.

—

Elizaveta is the strongest warrior in all of the ranks of Heaven. She’d been born several centuries before in a small city state, but her prowess in battle had gained her the favor of the God of War. Cyril had offered her a position as a servant in his Heavenly Army, and she’d taken it. After years of faithful service to him and to Heaven, she’d been granted immortality. Of course, humans do not age when they live in the Holy City, but Elizaveta had spent enough time waging wars on Earth for the gods against titans and monsters that they’d seen it fit to make her a sort of demi-god.

By now, she has amassed an incredible amount of power in the ranks of Heaven even without her affiliation with Cyril. She lives in her own villa apart from his, even, but she still owes a majority of her allegiance to him. Which is why when he materializes into existence near to her chair with a favor, she hears him out.

“I need you to help me keep an eye on someone,” he tells her, moving to one of her looking glasses and swirling his fingers over the surface until an image appears.

Elizaveta comes to stand next to him. “A human…?” she asks, confused. “Why?”

“He’s coming here on my orders," he says, expression almost catlike as he watches the man in the mirror. "I don’t want him to be killed on the ascent.”

“He’s not  your new…” She waves her hand as she searches for the word. “Pet, is he? I have progressed far beyond a body guard for your flings.”

“No,” Cyril says. “He’s going to be one of my new warriors. I intend to get him to join me in Heaven.”

She arches a brow. “Then problem solved. If he dies in the ascent, he’s not really worthy of the place, and you lose nothing.”

Cyril laughs. “How harsh, Eliza!” He grins though. Typically he’d agree, but… “This one is different. He’s fighting for a brother. He’s emotional and young. But I can feel it Elizaveta. Mark my words- this one is a keeper.”

After a moment of watching him, Elizaveta nods. “I’ll see that he is not killed, though I won’t step in until it’s clear that he’s going to die. It’s alright if he’s injured?”

“Yeah,” Cyril says back. “Injured is alright. Builds character.”

Cyril grins then and strokes the image of Alfred’s face in the mirror.


	3. The Faithful and the Faithless

Warriors come in different forms, and Cyril watches over them all- reckless soldiers, tacticians, cold mercenaries, ruthless generals, gentle-spirited fighters doing what they must. Whatever drives them, Cyril watches them and encourages them on. He himself is more unbridled, less restrained, but that's personal preference.

Alfred- he knows Alfred’s type. A warrior of the people. He is inspired by his comrades, by the people he wants to protect. He can see it in his after battle routine. Cyril had watched as Alfred hacked his way through the first three beasts with little trouble. They were the typical fanged nasties that a sharp blade and quick reflexes can easily dispatch. Afterwards, he’s tired and covered in the blood of the monsters. He finds a cave and roasts the meat of the bull creature he’d killed during the day.

Of course, Alfred has no idea he’s being watched.

Cyril had seen him triumph, had seen him tear viciously through the monsters attacking him. All in all, he’d been rather impressed, but it had told him only that Alfred doesn’t use rage to fight like some men do. He uses grit and passion, and Cyril can’t help wonder what the man would be like in bed. As he eats, Alfred speaks to his sword as though it lives and breathes, and he’s eager and happy and wanting only camaraderie and friendship. Cyril listens to his jovial chatter for the first few moments before cutting off the vision. He has seen and heard what he needs to hear, and he won’t invade the other’s private moment.

But if Alfred truly is this particular type of hero, he’d need a bit of friendly encouragement to keep his spirit high.

Cyril is quite willing to be that encouragement. Alfred is sitting with his head against the cave wall when Cyril comes to him.

“Oh, look a lost god,” Alfred says, irreverent.

Cyril doesn’t mind. He knows that he’ll have to win Alfred’s respect, and he’s quite eager for the sport of that. “I’m not lost,” he says with a grin. “I came to see you. Holding up well?” Cyril touches his hair, blood crusted into the sandy blonde locks. Alfred shrugs him off and shuffles away. There is mistrust written all over his face, and Cyril supposes he can’t blame the man. Shrewd warriors are careful about their alliances.

But it still irritates him.

“I’m fine,” Alfred says back, looking at his meat. “Why did you come?”

Cyril laughs and sits with him, taking meat for himself without invitation. “I came to see how you were doing,” he says back. “I know you miss your comrades.”

At this, Alfred looks up, surprise flashing in his eyes. It’s only there a moment before he sighs and reaches for his bow. As he speaks, he sits and works on it, anything to keep his hands busy. “I suppose gods know much more than they strictly need to,” he says back. For a moment, neither of them speaks, but Cyril’s eyes stay on him. Finally he continues. “I’m not used to being alone after a fight, is all.”

With a nod of understanding, Cyril tosses him an apple. “I had thought as much, and so I came to offer you company~”

Alfred catches the apple and eyes it suspiciously. “And what’ll this do to me then?” He’d heard plenty enough about gods to distrust food from one, and he feels like he trusts Cyril less than most to begin with.

“Nothing, nothing,” he replies with an indulgent smile.

After a moment, Alfred moves to stand in front of him. “If it won’t do anything bad to me, then shake on it,” he says, offering his hand.

“What? Really?”

Alfred nods. “If gods are governed by laws, then your word like this must mean something, right?”

“Oh you got me,” Cyril says, standing as well to look Alfred in the eye. He sees the other man’s ears turn lightly red, and he knows the human can feel the power radiating off of him. “It’s got an aphrodisiac in it~”

Although it takes Alfred a few moments to figure out what ‘aphrodisiac’ means (Cyril’s lecherous expression helps him a bit admittedly), he finally gets it and flushes darkly. He punches him in the chest and looks irritated. “Did you really come all the way here to hit on me?”

Cyril lets the other strike him, moving in closer at the chance and tugging a lock of his hair. “Maybe I did, little hawk,” he says. “But I was just joking. The apple won’t hurt you.” As he says this he takes his hand to shake it, grip hard and firm. “God’s word.”

“Alright…” Alfred says back, shaking his hand and stumbling back. He looks breathless and embarrassed. “I guess I’ll eat it then. Thanks.”

Of course, it wasn’t an entirely normal apple. Cyril had imbued it with some of his own power, and it’d make it easier for him to connect with and find Alfred. It’d also make it easier for the young man to kill the monsters that he’d be facing.

But, strictly speaking, it wouldn’t hurt Alfred so he isn’t breaking his word.

If Alfred notices the godly power the apple is lending to him, he doesn’t mention it, and so Cyril gets back to lightly ribbing the man and teasing him like any typical comrade would.

 –

 Matthew quietly shuffles into Jule’s sitting room, and he sits down looking uncertain. He thinks it must be time for him to be given work. All the other humans had tasks here of varying importance. Some of Jule’s humans excelled in playing instruments, and others sang. Painters, dancers, writers all populated Jule’s home. Others still would sit in deep reverie.

“They’re dreamers,” Jule told him. “And they’re dreaming things for me.” Presumably Jule could see all the dreams that they could, but Matthew had been too overwhelmed by the tour of the rest of the palace to ask. 

Today he’s to be told what Jule wants from him. He has realized that for the god himself to step down to help him that he must have some talent that pleased him particularly. So he kneels down at Jule’s feet and nibbles on his own lip in embarrassment.

“My Lord, you summoned me?” Matthew says softly, eyes reverently on the ground. Jule iss reading and he seems to be concentrating quite hard.

“I did,” the god replies in his quiet gentle voice. “I want you to paint for me today.”

Matthew looks up at him now, some surprise in his eyes. Painting is his favorite past time, but while he had been distinguished among his peers, he hardly thinks that his skills could impress the god. “Really?” Matthew asks softly. “Anything you ask. I’ll paint it for you.”

Jule nods and rises, offering Matthew a hand. With some hesitation and more than a slight blush, he takes it, and he lets the god lead him. It takes them a moment of winding through chambers and corridors that don’t seem logically connected. Only once they arrive in a wide bedroom with a lavish bed in the center of the room does Matthew understand.

“This is… your room…?” he asks, face red now. Although Jule had told him he doesn’t require physical intimacy from his followers, Matthew has been having quite a few unchaste thoughts about him. He wonders if Jule found him out.

“Yes. There is much magic cast to keep it well hidden. Gods must be careful.”

Jule doesn’t turn towards him, but instead he leads him to a seat next to a window. There’s a canvas set up there with paints for him. Out the window, there’s a gorgeous garden with large beautiful flowers- varieties of them that Matthew has never seen before.

“Wow,” he breathes softly. “This is what you see outside your window every day?”

Without answering, Jule urges him to sit. “I’d rather see you paint people,” he says. “But let’s start with still life.”

Matthew nods and moves to get comfortable. He’s well aware that the seat is positioned in such a way that someone lying on the bed can watch his progress. When he glances back, he sees his thoughts are well founded, because Jule is stretched out and watching.

“Please begin,” the sleepy god says softly.

With a nod, Matthew begins. He’s nervous at first, and it shows through his unsteady strokes. Once he grows accustomed to Jule’s attention focused on him, he does better, and he uses all the brushes and colors provided him. Although on Earth his access to paints and brushes can be very low because of monetary restrictions, Jule has given him every tool he might need. Matthew settles into a quiet rhythm of painting until he’s startled by Jule suddenly close to him.

The god is leaning around him to slide his fingers along his hand, and his face is nuzzling just a bit against his hair.

“Your form,” he says softly, “is quite good. Your flow and the way your brush moves, very lovely.”

Matthew shivers and takes a long breath. “Thank you, My Lord. I wish to please you.”

For a moment, Jule doesn’t answer, merely lets his fingers hover over Matthew’s hand. When he does speak again he changes tracks. “I prefer your paintings of people though,” he says softly. “You have a way of catching the beauty in others that many painters would miss.” He draws back finally and moves to his place on the bed. “Next time you come, you’ll paint a person. I’ve left materials in your room for you to practice.”

“Of course, My Lord,” Matthew says, turning to look at him for more instructions.

“Find a good finishing point for this painting, and then you can take your leave.”

Matthew has filled one part of the canvas with plants and flowers before he decides it’s time to go. When he stands to ask how to get back, Jule responds before the words leave his mouth. He gestures towards a doorway covered by a gauzy curtain.

Realizing he’s being dismissed, Matthew goes toward the door as he’s bidden, and he quietly excuses himself. He bows before he slips out. Strangely enough, he’s back in the sitting room he met Jule in. When he turns back to look at Jule again, the curtain behind him leads to a different room. 

Startling but not all that surprising. Of course the palace of a god would be thoroughly well protected. He heads back to his room to do as he is bidden, wanting quite earnestly to be able to paint something that would win Jule’s praises.

–

Alfred is skilled at killing monsters, and for the last few days he’s felt powerful, invigorated. Perhaps that’s what a valiant cause does to a person. It obviously would have nothing to do with the now nightly visits of the God of War. Alfred wouldn’t accept help from the man more than he had to, but at least to himself, he must admit that even an untrustworthy god is better than no company at all.

Although he knows that Cyril could be bloodthirsty and merciless on the battlefield, Alfred has been allowed to see his manner after the danger- what he called ‘campfire personality.’ His comrades in the human realm are the same. There are certain things that become obvious about a man when he’s fighting, of course, but it’s seeing the person under the bloodshed after the fighting is over that leaves the biggest impression.

For Alfred, who feeds on interaction with his comrades, getting to know a person’s after-battle ‘campfire personality’ is essential. He doesn’t need anyone else’s strength to succeed, but he does need that connection and that contact with those who fight alongside him to stay motivated and focused in battle.

So Cyril might be a terrible person, but he certainly has a nice fireside demeanor. Whatever else his faults, that company had helped Alfred get this far.

Now, Alfred stands in front of the next trial, a large entry gate. To get past, one must defeat whatever sort of creature lies inside of it. This trial will be more difficult than the previous ones, but Alfred is ready to face it. With his mouth set in a grim line, Alfred pushes open the door.

Somewhere in heaven, Cyril watches. 


	4. Paint and Peril

Matthew wakes up from an unplanned afternoon nap with the feeling of eyes on him. He flusters and sits up, realizing that there’s crusted paints on the side of his face. He’d fallen asleep at his practice, and he turns to address the person at the door apologetically. He doesn’t know the man standing at his door, but he has a regal sort of face- dark hair, deep blue eyes, and a mole just below his lip.

“Jule is requesting us both just now,” he says before Matthew can even apologize. “If you would.” The man looks at the paint on his face, though he doesn’t seem angry. “You should clean yourself first. I’ll wait in the entry hall for you.”

He turns and goes before Matthew can ask anything else, and he moves to the jug of water in his room and cleans his face. There are still smudges of purple across his cheek and nose when he comes out, but he can’t quite get it out quickly enough. He doesn’t wish to keep his god waiting. At least the bulk of it is gone.

“Let’s go then,” the man says without further introductions to Matthew. He leads them through the hallways, finally turning to step into the sitting room where Jule is waiting for them. The man gives a little bow, and then he strides forward. The room is clearly set up for music, instruments of all types arranged around the room. There are instruments here that even Matthew doesn’t recognize. He realizes that they must be from every corner of the world.

“Jule,” the other man says quietly to get his attention. “I’ve come with the new servant, as requested.” Then he bows again and sits down in a chair in front of a large harp.

Matthew hesitates at the door- the other man had referred to Jule by name and not title. This means they must be close... or that this other man isn’t nearly pious enough. He looks to Jule with some surprise in his eyes, and Jule just favors him with a sleepy smile.

“You were dreaming,” he says in his quiet gruff voice. “Instead of doing your daily practice.”

“I’m sorry!” Matthew says instantly, lowering his head in embarrassment and shame. “Please forgive me, My Lord.”

Jule just stands and comes to him, taking him by the hand and leading him to a chair behind an empty canvas. “I enjoy it when you dream,” he says simply, unruffled by Matthew's distress. “But today you will paint for me.”

The man across the room looks a little bored as he waits for them to start. He tunes his instrument almost idly, but Matthew can tell that the other man treasures it. The musician sits close to it, and his fingers slide over the strings appreciatively, almost caressing them.

“What will you have me do?” Matthew asks, though he’s starting to work out what was on the agenda for today.

“I will have you paint Roderich,” Jule says quietly. “He’ll play for us, and as he plays, I want you to capture him on your canvas.”

Jule hovers close to him for a moment, one hand smoothing down Matthew’s shoulders before he moves to lie across a comfortable looking day bed covered in cushions. Today, he seems in even higher spirits than he had before when he’d watched Matthew paint. Perhaps it's the advantage of music and painting at once.

Or perhaps, Jule favors the musician in a way he doesn’t Matthew. Jealousy is heavy in his heart, but he’s too sweet to hold it against the other man for long- especially when he starts to play. Roderich is quite skilled with the instrument, and Matthew loves music. So he relaxes and tries to clear his thoughts.

Then he picks up the brush and starts to paint.

—-

Alfred is bone tired. He’s been through several of the “big bads,” monster wise, and he doesn't feel like he’s getting significantly closer to the top of the mountain. He’s not even sure he has to fight them- it seemed to him like he could avoid some of the fights if he went off the beaten path.

When Cyril appears for his customary after battle pep talk, Alfred says as much.

“Oh but Alfred,” the god says as he comes to sit down next to him. “That’s the catch. You could go those other ways… but they wouldn’t be playing to your strong suits. Gods understand that many types of humans want to take the challenge. They’ve made paths for all of them. If they play to their skills, if they truly are worthy, they’ll find a way up.”

Alfred huffs and he looks down at his hands. “I’d like the easier track please.” He mostly just looks grumpy and thwarted- honestly, it’s all just complaining and bluster.

“You’re just worried that the scratch there on your face is going to scar your pretty boy looks.” Cyril stretches out a little and looks down at his hands as though investigating his fingernails for dirt. “I could help you out there. Healing a little thing like that would be easy for me.”

Alfred almost says yes, but he pauses then, eyes narrowing. “What would it cost me?”

In the last month, Alfred began to go through the trials of the mountains- big monsters that took a lot of skill and quick thinking to beat. After his third monster, Cyril had told him that there are 12 trials to make it through to get to the top. He’d been through 4 of the 12 trials, and in that time, he’d gotten to know Cyril rather well. He knows that any offer like that comes with a price. Sure, he suspects that the other helps him for free, silently in the background, but if it the assistance is offered to him directly? He’d have to pay for it.

“Oh nothing much~” Cyril says, expression curling into one of naughtiness. “Just a kiss~ As attractive as you’d be if that little scratch scars, I like you just as well now. A kiss would do me perfectly.~”

“Of fucking course  _you'd_ ask for a kiss,” Alfred says and he seems to think it over, snacking on berries he’d picked along the way up the mountain. His ego and his vanity are clearly warring inside his head, and Cyril finds it quite humorous. He figures that Alfred will just take the scar and be done with it.

But to Cyril’s infinite surprise, Alfred says, “Ya know what? Sure. A kiss for a bit of healing. What the hell!”

Excitement sparks through Cyril as the other closes his eyes as he leans forward, and he grins like anything as he moves in for his kiss. Then, just as their lips are just about to touch, Alfred tilts his chin up to kiss him on the tip of the nose instead.

Cyril’s eyes go wide as the other leans back again, and he feels his own cheeks get hot. He’s caught between distressed as he realizes that he’s been tricked…  and finding that one of the most adorable things a warrior has ever done. His expression must be amusing, because Alfred bursts into laughter.

“Come’n heal me, then, War God. I held up my side of the bargain!” Alfred grins at him, eyes sparkling with mirth.

“But—“ Cyril’s expression is still shocked, but he’s starting to laugh now too. “That wasn’t nearly the kiss I had in mind.”

“Yeah,” Alfred says, grin fading into a teasing smile. “But you didn’t specify when we made the deal so it counts!”

And somehow, even though he’s been tricked, Cyril isn’t actually angry about it. Not with the other beaming at him like that after kissing his nose-- as though he’s some tiny child kissing their first baby crush! Instead he starts to laugh harder, and he admits defeat. “I guess you win this round.” He comes over to Alfred, and he cups his cheek. The cut heals beneath his palm, and it gives him an excuse to make Alfred meet his eyes. “Hopefully sometime soon you’ll want a real kiss though~”

Then Cyril’s mirth is gone, and his expression is back to a cocky smirk and smoldering sharp eyes. Alfred always feels weak when he’s caught in that expression, and now is no exception. 

“You wish…” Alfred says softly back, voice barely above a whisper. He can’t seem to come up with anything more than that.

“You have 8 more trials to go through, little hawk,” the god says. “Plenty of opportunity to pray to me if you change your mind.”

Then Cyril leans close, as though he’s going to actually kiss him this time, and then suddenly he’s gone, leaving him alone again. Alfred rubs his cheek to find it completely healed, and he lets out a long low sigh. He’s pretty sure he’s going to go mad on this mountain, and Cyril will definitely be the cause of it.

—

Jule had been pleased with what Matthew had created, and he’d taken the canvas away with him when they were finished. Roderich had seemed impressed too, and he’d adopted a warmer attitude towards Matthew himself.

Both of those things are quite wonderful for Matthew, of course...

But the jealousy and the desire to be more to Jule than his other servants are heavier in his heart than before. It makes him feel guilty and ashamed of himself for acting in such an impious way. This particular night, he doesn’t really sleep all that well, dozing and rolling and unable to find a comfortable position. Finally he gives up and sits awake, getting himself a drink and fruit to snack on.

He’s having a lonely little vigil by himself in the middle of the night when suddenly a light appears in his room. It’s a small floating purple flame that hovers near his doorway. It’s almost the same color as Jule’s eyes, and Matthew is entranced.

“ _Matthew,”_ a voice says from the flame. “ _Come.”_

It’s Jule’s voice, distorted as though the other is far away. Matthew stretches out his hand towards it and rises from his seat. He follows the small flame down through darkened corridors as it pulses with its strange light. On Earth, perhaps, this would’ve scared him, but here in Jule’s house, he knows he’s safe. By the time the light leads him out of the seemingly endless darkened corridors, he finds himself in a softly lit night garden. In the center, there’s a bench beside a carefully kept pond, and this is where Jule sits watching the large colorful fish in the water. 

The scene is breathtaking. Matthew doesn’t want to break the serenity of the place, and so it’s Jule’s voice that finally cuts through the quiet. “Come and sit with me, Matthew,” he says. The tone of his voice is sad and soft and strangely full of longing.

It confuses Matthew- how Jule could be so sad and forlorn even in this beautiful place. “O-oh of course,” Matthew says and he moves to sit next to him. “This place is beautiful, My Lord.”

Jule looks down into his face, and he seems wise and calm despite the obvious distress in his demeanor. “One of my dreamers dreamed this for me. I quite like it.”

There’s another long silence as Matthew tries to think of something to say- to lighten the mood or just to feel less awkward. In the end, all he can come up with is, “Well it’s quite nice.”

The prompting has Jule speaking again, though on quite a different topic. “You are not happy tonight. Your sleep is quite restless.”

Matthew’s whole face goes scarlet. Of course the god of sleep would realize one of his subjects is having problems sleeping in his own house. “O-oh it’s nothing...!” he hastily assures him. “You… don’t seem happy tonight either though, Lord. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jule is master here, and Matthew should be the one trying to shoulder his god’s burden- not the other way around.

Jule doesn’t let him change the subject. “You don’t wish to be here anymore? You miss your brother perhaps?”

“What…?” The expression of disbelief on Matthew’s face is genuine. “I mean, yes, I miss my brother, but Alfred would understand. I’m getting to work for my patron god on his mountain, serving him directly. Alfred would understand that…!”

“Would he?” Jule says, though his expression is strange now. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to be down there, with your family, where your life and home is?”

“No!” Matthew says, moving to grip at Jule’s hands. “No, no I love it here. I’m happy! I want to stay by your side. You saved my life too- even if I weren’t as happy as I am, I’d owe you a heavy debt.”

Jule seems to relax then. “Well, if you wanted to return to Earth, I would let you.” He takes Matthew’s hands gently now, and he rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “But Alfred, your brother, he is trying to climb the Holy Mountain. He wishes to see you again.”

Matthew’s eyes go wide- fear and uncertainty war inside him. “But… b-but that’s dangerous! He-he might be killed! It’s almost impossible to make it to the top, right?”

“Almost,” Jule agrees, and he takes a breath. “If he comes here for you, you wouldn’t go back with him?”

“I mean, I’d love to see him but… no. No, I’d stay here with you. I’d explain to him. He’d understand…”

Here Jule softens, and he lifts Matthew’s chin up to look into his eyes. “Would he? I’ve felt his dreams. They are upset, conflicted, troubled. You’re his only family, and he doesn’t want to be alone.”

Matthew starts to interrupt that Alfred might be happy in this temple house too, but Jule shakes his head as though he understands where the other’s thoughts are. “Your brother is a good man, Matthew. I can tell as much,” he says, voice quiet and filled with sadness again. “But he is not under my domain. He’s not a musician or an artist. He is a dreamer, perhaps, but he’s too energetic to serve that role in my home. If he came here, he wouldn’t be able to stay. His patron god is quite another sort.”

It takes a moment for Matthew to realize what the other is saying. “I’d have to let him get here just to tell him goodbye…” He looks into Jule’s eyes. “And his patron god is…” But he knows. Alfred is a warrior, a hero, through and through. “The War God.”

“Yes, my brother is watching over him and helping him now.”

Matthew’s eyes go wide, and he feels sick. He doesn’t want his brother to become indebted to a god just to make it to the Holy Kingdom—only for Matthew to turn him away. But Matthew would have to right? How could he give up his dream life on the mountain? Jule seems to understand his feelings.

“Think about things. I could tell your heart was unsettled today. If you do want to return with him when he comes, I’ll let you go.” Jule is smiling, but his eyes are sad. It hits Matthew suddenly that the other had been upset at the thought of him- tiny unimportant servant that he is- leaving.

“That’s not why I was upset!” Matthew blurts now, cheeks red. “I was...! I was actually...” But he’s too ashamed to admit what he was.

“You were what?” Jule presses softly. The other is looking at him so gently with no judgment or hurt in his eyes anymore, and Matthew knows he must be honest with him. The god genuinely wants to keep him happy, and that desire warrants honestly. Jule's gentle care for him, for his feelings, has warmth blossoming in his chest.

“Roderich,” Matthew says softly. “He was so familiar with you. So at as ease and friendly and he called you by your name. I was…”

“You were jealous.” The sleepy old god is amused now, lips just barely tilting up. Matthew realizes that the god's cheeks are flushed lightly as well. “I see. You may call me Jule as well. I am not a god that requires subservience. My followers are as dear to me as I am to them.” Jule tilts Matthew’s face up towards him. “What is a god of art with no artists?”

Then Jule does the last thing that Matthew expects. He leans in and kisses him sweetly on the lips, lingering there. Matthew’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes fall shut as he gently, oh-so-gently, kisses Jule back. But the moment is over quite soon. The kiss stays chaste- just a warm point of contact. Despite that, Matthew feels hot in a most unchaste way. 

“Go on,” Jule says softly after a moment, just barely smiling. “Sleep now, and we’ll talk again soon.”

Matthew can’t get his lips to work to say anything back, and he just lightly touches his mouth. Only when he’s at the door can he finally find his voice. “Sleep well, Jule…”

He flushes bright at the use of the god’s true name, and he flees out of the door and back to his room too quickly to see the lovely way Jule smiles at him in response. 


	5. Birds of a Feather

“Fuck,” Alfred says, sliding backwards from the force of the clash with the monster’s tail. He backtracks quickly, eyes on the creature he’s fighting.  It had appeared out of the dark- a man’s smiling face wreathed in a thick mane of hair. Alfred had spoken to it, and then its lips had parted to reveal three rows of razor sharp teeth. It had chased him from the cave to reveal itself- a man’s face with the body of a lion. Its tail is jointed and scorpion-like, tipped with a deadly stinger.  

Alfred’s one relief is that, unlike some of the stories, manticores can’t shoot poison spikes from its tail. Unfortunately, it’s large and clawed and well able to defend itself. Alfred is not enjoying his fight with the beast, but he’s managed to wound it. As unnerving as it is to hear human-like cries of pain coming from the creature, he knows that it’s as feral and wild as anything else he’s faced.  

Since he’s injured the thing, Alfred has been waiting only for the beast to lunge at him again so he could thrust his sword through the shallow wound he’d already made in the creature’s tough hide. His plan to slay the beast is coming together. Finally it leaps at him, and Alfred moves quickly, using the beast’s momentum against it to shove his sword deep into its chest. They fall together and for a few brief moment the monster’s weight is on top of him as it thrashes and dies.  

Soon it goes completely limp, lifeless, and Alfred has to squirm out from under it. Now that the danger has passed, he’s suddenly hyper aware of every ache and pain and injury… But it’s the injury on his arm that causes the most the distress. He’d gotten it in the final moments, and he’d like to think that it was from manticore’s claw- but he knows the long thin slice oozing black venom is from the monster’s tail. The venom of the manticore paralyses its victims, but he doesn’t know how much will kill a man or how long its effects last. 

He takes several long minutes of dizzy struggling to get his sword back, and he stumbles toward the exit. He’s going to need help, but thinking is becoming difficult. Though he knows he should call to Cyril for help, he can’t seem to get his name out or make his mouth move. When he collapses onto the ground, he’s panting hard, and his arm is burning now from the venom. It’s becoming difficult to move his limbs. The last thing he sees before he finally passes out is a pair of boots stepping into his line of vision.  

—

Alfred doesn’t know how long he’s been out when he finally wakes. The smell of meat roasting is the first thing that he becomes aware of as he rouses. The other details come to him in pieces through a thick haze of sleep. It’s night and the stars are out overhead. Birds are twittering and insects are making noise- he’s somewhere safe then, for them to be so noisy. There are bandages on his arm and though it doesn’t burn, there’s a dull ache that’s hard to ignore.  

He finally looks around more fully to see his surroundings and his camp, and he sees the shield before he sees the person. It’s a broad, heavy sort of shield, emblazoned with a huge bird of prey wearing a crown atop its head and a sword gripped in its talons. The symbol isn’t one that he recognizes from any of the nearby city states. 

As he groggily puzzles this, a voice cuts through the camp. “I’m not from your corner of the world. This is the first time you’ve seen the symbol of my people?”  

Alfred jerks then, trying to locate his weaponry but also to find the source of the voice. He finds that all his weapons are across camp, sitting at a warrior’s side. “Who the fuck…?”

Somehow he’d be expecting Cyril to be the one there with him, but instead, there's a woman who he’s never seen before. She has long wavy hair that falls down her back. She’s pulled it into a ponytail, and this shows off how lovely her face is. Her eyes are a deep green, and she looks at him as though she can see straight into his brain. Instantly he knows that this is a warrior not to be trifled with.  

“Rude,” she says, grinning as she leans back. “But I’ll forgive you. You’re recovering from a nasty wound.”  

Alfred tries to sit up, but he slumps back down soon after. His limbs ache and feel incredibly stiff. He moves to touch the wound on his arm gingerly, wincing.  “Who are you?” he asks again, though this time much more politely.  

“Elizaveta,” she says back. She stands now and walks over to examine him. “You are quite young aren’t you? Cyril said you were, but I didn’t realize until seeing you in person.”  

“He sent you?” With her help, Alfred moves into a sitting position. Then food is pressed into his hands. “Why?”  

“Said you were a little hawk,” she answers, and she jerks her head back to gesture to her shield with the great bird on it. “Said that we’d get along just fine.” She laughs softly and moves to sit down again. “I didn’t realize quite how small you would be though.”  

“Hey now!” Alfred says, cheeks heating up. “I’m perfectly normal sized! It’s not bad bein’ young.”  

“I agree. There’s nothing wrong with being young. It’s actually more impressive- what you’ve accomplished with so little life experience.” Eliza moves back to her seat and starts to eat her own portion. “You just didn’t know enough about manticores. They are quite egotistical- when it knew it was finished, it used its last moments to try and kill you.”  

Alfred looks down at his hands. “Ah, yeah I figured that must’ve been a close call…”  

“You did well,” she says. “Or I might not have helped you. You’re young and you have a lot of work ahead of you, but you could be a great warrior with more training and experience.”

“Thanks,” Alfred says, but he sighs a little. “Do you think I can make it to the top at least? I need to—”  

“You need to save your brother,” she says, interrupting him. “Yes I’ve been told. But have you considered that he doesn’t want to be saved?”  

“What…? Why wouldn’t he want to come back home?”  

Elizaveta shrugs and smiles at him. “He’s serving his god, isn’t he? In the Holy Kingdom, right at his side. What temple boy would give up that chance?”  

Alfred hasn’t considered this. Sure, he certainly figured that the god who took Matthew was Jule. Which other god would care enough about his brother to steal him away and save him from a ritual? But he hasn't considered that Matthew might want to stay in heaven... “That’s why Cyril didn’t specify when he told me a god took him. He was afraid I’d let Jule have him since Matthew might want it that way…” Alfred kicks a rock toward the fire. “That conniving bastard.”  

Elizaveta clearly sees the anger in his gaze, and she shakes her head. “While Cyril probably considered that, you’d have come even knowing that, wouldn’t you? Knowing that wouldn’t have changed much.”  

“Yeah… yeah… I suppose that’s true but… He could’ve just said! I had thought maybe it was the case anyways...”  

“Suppose he could’ve,” Elizaveta says with a laugh. She stands then and moves to collect her things. “You will heal. I’ve left a bit of medicine for you, in case something… like this happens again.” She gestures at his arm before fixing him with quite a serious expression. “I know you have a bad image of Cyril- I did too, when I met him. But let me give you a hint- he isn’t so bad as he seems, and gods aren’t static. Their followers are affected by them, of course, but gods are also shaped by their followers.”  

After a moment of rather intense eye contact, Alfred looks down at his food and frowns. “I don’t understand.”  

“I’m saying that you can inspire and affect gods just as much as they inspire and affect you," she clarifies. "That's an important fact to be aware of."

He starts to protest- to say that Cyril doesn’t inspire him- but she’s gone in a blink of an eye. Alfred has quite a bit to think about.

—-

Elizaveta has quite a bit to think about too. She’s given even more after her visit to Roderich. Although they are affiliated with different temples and domains, Elizabeta has never been much impressed by the idea of stark distinctions between the gods and their houses. Sure, they bicker and fight and posture like anything to mark off their own domains, but in truth, their roles and powers can overlap quite a bit. To add to that, humans are so varied in their skills and jobs that they are usually watched over by more than one god at once. 

Of course, gods don’t necessarily interfere with the proceedings on Earth. They often watch though, passively cheering on their followers and subjects. When they can or are so inclined, they send help and reassurance to the humans who worship them.  

So, Elizaveta doesn’t see much wrong with visiting the bedrooms of gods or their servants not in her domain. She has a few soldiers in the Heavenly Army that she’s spent interesting hours with- Gilbert chief among them- but she’s also spent time with the lavish extravagant God of Wine and Ecstasy, Sadik. Still yet, she’s spent time in the temples of love with goddesses there- Mei (the Goddess of Fanatical Love), Lili (the Goddess of Familial Love), and Marianne (the Goddess of Erotic Love).

Yes, Elizaveta enjoys her time in heaven quite well, and today, she’s been enjoying it with Roderich-  young musician from Earth with skilled hands but a lazy indulgent sort of personality.  It is not their first time together nor will it be their last. She adores the sweet man even if he does get a bit jealous of her other lovers. Unfair of him, she thinks, since she’s well aware he takes other partners as well.  

Roderich is lying in bed still, completely naked, as she dresses herself. He looks so lazy and well pleased with her that it makes her want to curl into bed with him longer. Sadly, she doesn’t have the time. Duty calls her away.  

“Oh,” Roderich says after a moment, sitting up. “Jule told me to ask after… I forget his name. The warrior coming to reclaim his brother.”

“Alfred,” she supplies. “His name is Alfred.” She’s mostly dressed now but she comes to sit at the edge of the bed and play with the man’s still messy hair.

“Yes,” he says, closing his eyes and leaning into her hand. “He told me you saw him recently, and he wondered if you’d see him again.”

“I have seen him. I gave him a bit of assistance.” She leans in and kisses his jaw. Roderich tilts his head for her and hums happily. For a moment he’s distracted from his business.

Finally he clears his throat, and he speaks again. “He’ll be glad to hear he’s safe. He wants to give you something to pass on to Alfred.”

“Oh he knew I’d be visiting you soon hmmm~?” There is amusement in her voice but then she pauses in her kisses along his neck and pulls back. “The god of sleepy artists wishes to give him assistance?”   
   
“His brother is well admired here,” Roderich says with a shrug. “And the man himself is a dreamer, apparently.” He says the word dreamer as if it’s perfectly irrational title to give anyone.

“Two gods helping the kid directly? That’s exciting.” She looks irritated.

Roderich laughs and misinterprets the expression. “Oh don’t be jealous Eliza. You were a favorite long before these two even existed.”

“No,” she says. “I’m not jealous. Just… worried. How often do two gods’ direct interference work out? If they are fighting over the two of them…” Well honestly it doesn't bode well for their futures.

“True...” he replies. Then he shrugs and adds, “But we have to let things run their course. He wants you to go and see him before you leave.”

“Yes, yes, I’ll give the sleepy old thing a visit.”

—-

Matthew has spent his day in the temple gardens painting. He’s found a lovely bench surrounded by flowers, and he is trying to paint Jule onto the bench purely from memory. He’d managed the body just fine, but the face is giving him trouble. Not because he remembered it less perfectly than the rest of Jule but because there’s so much depth to the sleepy god’s eyes, so much feeling in his face. Matthew isn’t sure he can capture it.

“Headless,” a voice full of humor says close behind him. “You prefer me this way?”

Startled, Matthew jumps and turns to Jule leaning over him and looking intently at his painting.

“Oh! Oh no, of course not,” Matthew says, putting his hand to his heart as he tries to steady himself. “I just haven’t quite figured out how I want to do it.”  

Jule offers him a small smile, cheeks pink. “If you wanted to paint me, all you need do is ask.” Jule moves to sit on the bench in the exact pose the other had painted.

Almost immediately Matthew starts to see little mistakes here and there and first, he sets out to carefully correct them. Finally he glances up at Jule’s face and looks into his eyes.   
   
“I want you to… uhm, with your expression, I want it to be…” But Matthew can’t say it. There’s a soft warm way that Jule smiles sometimes that makes Matthew’s heart race. But how do you ask for a thing like that? It’s such an adoring look, and just the thought of it makes Matthew turn rather red and start getting nervous. If he could see his own face, Matthew would be even more embarrassed- his expression is always one of adoration and longing when he's around Jule.

Perhaps Jule understands, because suddenly he’s favoring him with that warm, affectionate smile. It makes Matthew’s heartbeat quicken, and his body feel warm. Matthew nods and says, “Yes. Perfect. Just smile like that.” He’s bright red but he starts on his face, capturing that expression just perfectly onto his painting. It takes him a bit of work and tinkering before he’s completely happy with it but finally, he nods. “There, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

Jule rises from his seat and he moves around to look at the painting. As he admires his work, the god flushes again, cheeks red. “It’s quite lovely, Matthew,” Jule says softly, despite his obvious embarrassment. “Thank you.”

Matthew knows that other artists have painted Jule many times and that he’s hardly the most skilled of them. Even still, Jule looks incredibly pleased, which is all he cares about. Then Matthew reaches out and gently takes hold of Jule’s top. “Can I keep it?” Normally when he’s finished a painting he gives it to Jule. Apparently the god tucks away everything his artists make for him. He’ll display some of them for a while, rotating them through various parts of the temple home rather often. Every artist sees their work displayed that way. “I’d like to put it on my wall.”

Jule’s cheeks seem to get warmer, and he considers the request. Finally he smiles and nods, leaning down peck the top of Matthew’s head. “Of course you can keep this one. As lovely as it is, it would be strange for me to linger too long over my own image, hm?”

Since their kiss under the moonlight days before, Jule is more affectionate, albeit still in a gentle chaste sort of way. Every little bit of affection makes Matthew’s heart sing.  
  
“Thank you,” Matthew says. His hand is still curled around the other’s clothing, but he brings his other up to cup Jule’s cheek shyly. “A favor in return?” he offers as he leans in to kiss him.  

Before their lips can touch, a voice calls out to Jule. “Elizaveta to see you, Lord.”

At the interruption, Matthew pulls back and lets him go, and Jule frowns in displeasure. “Of course. I’m coming,” Jule says, tone grumpy. He looks back to Matthew before following the other, and he says in a quieter, gentler voice, “You can give me that ‘thank you’ some other time Matthew.”

As he walks away, Matthew presses a hand over his heart and tries to calm himself down. He’d spend the rest of the afternoon thinking about Jule’s lips, but that’s hardly a new occurrence for him anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emblem on Eliza’s shield is the [Turul.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Turul) Even though this AU is sorta vaguely meant to take place in fictional Greece-esque ancient times, I want to keep that they’re all kind of culturally different. I wanted Eliza to be distinct from Alfred and Matthew in origin.
> 
> On that note, I used Eliza’s love life to introduce some of the other gods and what characters are meant to be what sort of god. I also am super excited to introduce that she’s a total babe living it up and having sex and romance and love with whoever she wants. Eliza is my favorite lady for polyamory and bisexuality since she’s just that kind of character. I mean, I imagine in heaven people get bored anyways, and Eliza keeps it fresh for herself by taking many lovers. As you can probably tell, she’s my favorite lady in Hetalia.


	6. To Give a Gift

A few days pass before Matthew is able to give Jule his thank you. He’s hung his painting of Jule high on the wall, and he admires it as he falls asleep each night. The first time he has this peculiar feeling he can’t describe- all warm and sweet. A religious experience, he figures. After two more nights pass, he realizes that it’s not so simple. He’s had plenty religious affirmation before, knows what it feels like, but this is different.

It’s not simply worshipful warm. He gets hot as he lies in bed gazing up at the painting of this beautiful god, and he imagines what it’d be like to lay in bed next to him. To be able to fall asleep looking at him instead of just a painting is an exciting feeling, but it’s also not particularly chaste.

Jule seems to have business about his temple house, but Matthew gets to see him with some of the other artists during the day. So when the night finally comes that a hovering purple light appears at his door as he tries to fall asleep, he’s quite nervous and excited. The flame leads him off into the darkness towards its beckoning master.

When he finds his way out of the darkened hallways that the light leads him through, Matthew isn’t in that night garden again. He’s in Jule’s bedroom, and the curtains are pulled around the bed. The material is sheer though, and in the soft light of the candles, he can make out the shape of Jule’s body as he lies in bed.

“Jule?” he says softly, wondering if the other is even awake. There’s a moment of silence as Matthew slowly approaches the bed. “You summoned me?”

Then Jule moves, parting the sheer white curtain for him. “Come,” is all he says, beckoning him into the bed with him. Matthew slowly moves to join him, crawling up into his bed. He sits there on his knees and looks down at Jule.

The bed is spacious and soft, just the perfect place to nestle down into blankets and nap. Jule is stretched out and looking extremely comfortable, expression so peaceful that he seems to be dreaming. Somehow, it makes Matthew feel warm all over, and he isn’t sure what to do with himself. Too overwhelmed to move, Matthew just admires how Jule looks nestled in among his cushions.

Jule breaks the silence. “Didn’t you want to sleep next to me?” He opens his eyes then, and he reaches for Matthew’s hand to pull him down onto the bed beside him.

“W-well I mean… this is just so…” Matthew is flushed red and looking more than a little overwhelmed. “This is much too forward for me. You... you’re a god.”

“Shhh,” Jule says softly. “I’m the God of Sleep. I can tell you want this, and I can grant your wish. Simple.”

“Oh…” Matthew replies, smile coming to his lips. “If you think it’s okay…” Then he lets himself be pulled down beneath the blankets and in against Jule’s side.

Jule’s arms wrap around his waist and holds him close, and Matthew nuzzles his face in against his chest. He breathes in the scent of him- an earthy sort of smell with a lingering hint of paint and charcoal. It makes him smile, because Jule has been spending more time with the artists as of late. He wants to flatter himself and believe that Jule wants to see him.

Finally, after he’s basked for a few moments, he says softly, “I still owe you that thank you…”

Slowly, he pulls back to look up into Jule’s sleepy face. Matthew knows that he’s bright red as he makes his offer, but Jule looks relaxed, steady. He reaches up to stroke Matthew’s hair back.

“You don’t have to,” he murmurs softly. Then he just barely smiles. “But do as you wish.”

Again, there it is. Jule is trying so hard not to abuse his power, being so careful to make sure that Matthew never feels pressured or obligated to be physical with him. Honestly, that sort of attentiveness isn’t something he’d ever expect from a god. Jule could have and do anything he wanted, but he’s careful not to abuse his powers… and he’s got his full attention on Matthew.

“I want to…” Matthew says softly and he leans in to press his lips to Jule’s, his own eyes closing as he moves. The touch is gentle at first, uncertain. Matthew knows only that he wants to keep the contact going so his lips just barely part for him, and he presses closer. He’s trying to tempt the other to take a bit of control- Matthew has been a temple boy from such a young age he hasn’t even the faintest idea how this should go.

Then he feels Jule smile against his mouth.

“You don’t know how,” he says softly. Matthew can feel his breath on his lips, and it makes him shiver a little.

Though it makes him blush darkly to admit, he says back, “Of course I don’t. I was a temple boy!!” And Matthew opens his eyes now to look up into Jule’s face and pout at him just a bit. The humor in Jule’s eyes and the way he smiles when he’s genuinely amused though… it stops his complaints immediately. It’s an adorable expression. Matthew can’t believe that it’s focused on him. Still pouting, he finally pushes lightly at his chest, and he says, embarrassed annoyance creeping into his voice, “Just teach me how okay? Share your divine wisdom or whatever.”

Jule laughs, a quiet deep sound, and Matthew’s heart starts to race.

 “Alright,” he says as he moves to cup the back of Matthew’s head. “I’ll teach you.”

As Jule leans in, Matthew closes his eyes and grips at the front of the god’s night shirt. When their lips touch again, it’s more forceful than before. Jule has taken over and he leads him into a lingering sweet kiss at first. Then he murmurs, “Part your lips for me.”

And so Matthew does. Jule’s tongue slips into his mouth, and Matthew makes a sound of excitement. This encourages Jule who uses his hand in Matthew’s hair to tilt his head just so as he begins to explore his mouth. He teases their tongues together until Matthew is too excited to be led. Suddenly Matthew is fighting for… not dominance necessarily but for more, pleading and trying to pull him in. Jule isn’t one to tease for too long, and he gives in to what Matthew wants.

So Matthew’s first real deep kiss escalates into a full make out session rather quickly. Jule ends up pressing Matthew down against the bed to lay on top of him, and Matthew wraps his legs around his waist to drag him in closer. Even when Jule breaks from his mouth, he doesn’t stop with his kisses- he just moves to leave sweet burning trail of kisses along his jaw and neck instead. Matthew writhes beneath him, and he aches for more.

Jule pulls back though. “There now,” he says, panting softly. His cheeks are red, and he looks just as overwhelmed as Matthew feels. “That was quite a good thank you.”

Matthew laughs and strokes a hand through Jule’s hair. “And a good lesson too.”

With these words, Jule’s expression turns serious. He takes a breath, and he says, “If you want to practice… I won’t tell you that it can only be with me but…” He presses a chaste kiss to his forehead. “I’d prefer if you came to me for such lessons.”

Matthew is sincerely confused by this idea. “Why would I go to anyone else…?” he asks, fingers hesitantly curling into the front of Jule's robes. “You’re the only one that’s ever made me think about kissing and, uh, stuff.”

Jule looks relieved. “I thought as much,” he replies, voice quiet and sleepy again. “But I want you to know it’s alright if your attention strays…sometimes at least.” Jule moves to lay next to him and almost immediately Matthew misses the warmth and closeness of his body. “Time is long here, and I never wish for my subjects to feel…trapped.”

There’s a note of pain in his voice, as though this is something that has happened before. Matthew moves to cup his face and to shyly kiss his cheek. “What happened?”

Jule shakes his head. “Gods can be jealous, but when they are, it’s their human subjects that suffer first. I don’t want you to suffer.”

Matthew thinks about this and looks into his eyes. “I only want to be with you,” he says back. “I only want to serve you…” His cheeks turn red, but he can’t help but glance down at Jule’s body as those naughtier thoughts creep into his head.

 _“I don’t require_ my  _followers to worship me with their bodies as well_ ,” Jule had said the very first day Matthew spent in the Heavenly Kingdom. Now he keeps wondering how to tell Jule he very much wants that now.

So he clears his throat and he says slowly, “I mean, maybe...I want to serve you in, uhm, every way that you’d like, even if it’s not so… chaste?” Matthew stammers out his offer, hoping that the other didn’t make him elaborate in any embarrassing way.

Jule seems to understand, though there’s amusement in his face again. “You wish for this now…? You’re quite rapid- jumping from first kiss to sex so easily.”

Matthew starts to protest, starts to tell him that he’d been thinking of this since their first moments alone in the bath, but Jule shushes him, pressing a finger to his lips.

“I know how you’ve wanted me,” Jule says softly, eyes closing for a moment as he rests his face against a pillow. “I can sense it. But you’re young and innocent, and I’m timeless and lazy.” He snuggles Matthew in against his chest and kisses the top of his head. “I take my time with new loves, especially ones so inexperienced. We’ll get there in time.”

Easy for Jule to say perhaps- he’d lived for ages and had taken countless lovers in the past by the sound of it. Matthew is still aching with the want of a first love and the new experience of lust. Of course, Matthew knew the concept of lust, had seen other temple mates fall into it easily. But never him- he had been fully devoted to his position, and while he’d admired attractive people before, he’d never fixated on someone the way he has with Jule.

“Waiting is hard,” Matthew says, forcing his tone to be teasingly grumpy. He's so happy that he's not sure he even manages it though. To be allowed to hold the man, to snuggle into his arms in his bed… it’s not something he ever anticipating. “I’ve never felt so… worked up before.”

Jule smiles and rubs his back soothingly. “Then I have an idea. I’ve neglected my other followers for the artists recently while getting your training started–“

Matthew’s breath catches and his heart speeds up-- Jule _had_ been paying him particular attention.

“—So in exchange for less of my attention during your art training, I can have  _private lessons_  for you at night.”

There’s a way that he says those words that send a shiver up Matthew’s spine. He can tell that their private training will have little to do with painting.

“That sounds perfect,” Matthew breathes back. “So long as I have time with you I’ll be happy.”

Jule nods and strokes his hair. “Good,” Jule murmurs quietly, and Matthew can tell that his god is starting to doze. One thing Matthew has learned about Jule is that he can fall asleep almost immediately. Jule often makes sudden decisions to sleep in almost every part of the temple. “Sleep with me,” Jule adds, pulling Matthew closer. 

“Alright,” Matthew says, and though he wants to stay awake in his arms to bask, he finds that he’s much too comfortable and relaxed to stay awake for very long.

—

“So I heard from Elizaveta that Jule sent you a toy,” Cyril says as he appears rather suddenly at Alfred’s side. The man has a campfire built and he’s roasting a bit of meat from the day’s kill. As expected, Alfred jerks rather badly at the sudden entrance, almost dropping his meat completely into the fire.

“Fuck, Cyril do you have to do that every damn time?” He grips his chest and tries to steady his breathing.

Yes, Cyril does have to do this every time. Alfred’s frightened reactions are almost comically overdone, and it’s been a while since Alfred reflexively drew his sword at Cyril’s presence. This particular point has Cyril feeling rather smug. It means that Alfred can sense him almost as soon as he’s materialized and that the other doesn’t consider him a danger. Of course, Cyril _is_  quite dangerous but not to Alfred. He has no interest in harming Alfred.

“I said,” Cyril says patiently, “That Jule sent you a toy. What is it, may I ask?”

The knowledge that Jule favored Alfred with a gift has been driving him to distraction. It’d be just like his brother to snatch another promising human out from underneath him. All he’s really desired since his deal with Alfred was struck has been to convince the other to join him and his army. Very rare is it that Cyril wants such a thing. Oh sure, gods take pets and adopt humans all the time- some gods are just more prone to it than others. Cyril is a warrior, and Heaven already has an army of demi-gods and semi-immortals at its beck and call. They have little need for humans to fill out those ranks often.

Oh, Cyril loves humans, but he likes them transient. Not because he wants them to die, or anything so horrific, but because he wants to see them live. Humans love life far more than most gods do- they treasure it, and they burn bright and hot as they try to shove in as much good into their limited life spans as they can. Giving them the indefinite immortality that comes with living in Heaven sort of ruined that- if they die naturally, they'll go on through the reincarnation wheel and go again anyways.

But Alfred, Cyril doesn’t want to see him burn out. He wants to keep this one, and he’ll be damned if he lets his lazy-ass brother steal Alfred from him. That little cute artist is nothing to the warrior in front of him, and Cyril doesn’t intend to let him get away.

“Oh that?” Alfred says, reaching into a pocket on his bag. He produces a little leather pouch. “Some sort of medicine or sleep powder or something. I’m supposed to use it to uh…”

“To put someone to sleep… or to contact him in your dreams. I know what this is used for.” Cyril’s expression darkens somewhat. “Is he trying to win your alliance now?”

Alfred doesn’t seem to sense the dangerous mood that Cyril is in, and he just shrugs. “Huh? I don’t think so? Elizaveta said that my brother appealed to him to help me, and this was the only way he could. I dunno. Sounded like being friendly to me.”

The words soothe him just slightly, and Cyril pulls Alfred in against his side, rubbing his arm. “Well then, I suppose, as your patron god, I should give you a gift as well hm~?”

“Patron god?” Alfred says, looking up into Cyril’s eyes. “Is that what we’re calling this now huh?” There’s mirth and happiness in Alfred’s face though, and he doesn’t mean it in a scathing way- like he would've when they first met.

“Yes,” Cyril says, taking Alfred’s chin in hand to make the other look into his eyes. “I’m your patron, officially. I don’t require worship like some of the others- simply strength and spirit~ In that regard, I’ve been your patron for a long time.”

Alfred shoos his hand away from his face and just laughs. “Well, warriors are your thing right? Guess you kinda hafta look over me.”

“I  _want_ to Alfred. I  _choose_ to look after you particularly. I don’t favor everyone with such individual attention.” Cyril makes eye contact with him again, trying to drive home just how strong his feelings are about Alfred’s prowess.

Something in Alfred’s expression changes and he seems to understand. “So…” Then suddenly he’s smiling again. “You really do got it bad for me huh? That’s pretty funny. I didn’t know gods could be like that.”

Cyril smiles too, glad that Alfred had been warming to him so well. Though he knows if he hit on him right now that Alfred would shove him off, Cyril can see that he’s slowly working his way into the human’s heart. “So, as your patron god, I’ve come to give you my own sort of gift.~” 

Alfred perks up immediately and turns to look at him. “Really…?” Then he pauses. “For like, free? No task, I don’t have to kill a monster or make out with you? Nothing?”

Cyril nods. “Not this time. This is a symbol of my favor~” And with that he produces a blade out of thin air. “It’s quick and strong, better than anything humans can forge on earth. It’s all yours~ There’s magic too it… but for it to work, you have to figure out how to summon and channel it yourself.”

“Whoa…” Alfred’s eyes are wide, and his expression is one of startled excitement. Cyril knows that the other is already appraising the blade… and he grins because there’s nothing left wanting. The blade is just about the most perfect one in his collection. Alfred reaches out to lightly touch the metal, chewing his lip lightly and want burning in his eyes.

“And so you recognize me as your patron?” Cyril asks as the other takes the blade from him.

“Yes,” Alfred says. “There’s nothing binding here though right?”

Cyril laughs at how careful he is. “Of course not. It’s you accepting a token from your patron. You only have to recognize me as such.”

Suddenly recognition comes into his eyes. “You’re bribing me to like you aren’t you?”

“Perhaps…” Cyril admits with a smile. “Perhaps I am.”

For a moment, Alfred has leveled a fierce little expression on Cyril, clearly trying to read his mind. He finally relaxes and takes a breath. “Well damn, it’s working pretty well. Alright then, Cyril.” Alfred slides his fingers along the design set into the hilt- Cyril’s design- and he adds, “I recognize you as my patron.”

And Cyril relaxes and he smiles to himself. There was nothing of dishonesty here… but it is the first step of getting Alfred to become one of his followers. Soon, perhaps, Cyril will have the little hawk in his house in Heaven to serve him.

If Alfred understands anything of Cyril’s plans, he doesn’t bring it up- simply begins to test the blade before offering the god some of his food. 


	7. Trials and Temptations

Cyril’s gift has come in handy so far- the remaining monsters had been simple enough to slay. The sword had more than demonstrated why a ‘godsend’ denotes an amazing thing. Alfred had cut through scales and bones and thick animal hide with the same ease as breaking bread, and he _is_ feeling pretty powerful.

Until now.

Honestly, Alfred isn’t sure quite what’s happening. The ascent up the mountain had been going rather predictably so far- well, as predictably as a monster infested war zone could be perhaps. To get to the top he had slain a series of monsters- eleven of the twelve trials so far, in fact- all of which lived in and around caves. After he’s destroyed the monsters, he’d find the godly emblems they were hiding within. Supposedly, if he has them all entry into the Kingdom of Heaven is easy.

Alfred sure as hell hopes so, because he isn’t certain he can handle some ‘grand finale’ monster after he bests the biggest bad of them. This cave should be the final test, but so far, he’s found nothing. It’s deep and dark and empty, and he’s beginning to think that he’s gotten the wrong cave after all. They aren’t marked out in any noticeable way, and he’s wandered into a few perfectly normal caves already.

Just as he’s about to turn back and head to the entrance, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Arching a brow, he raises his shield and draws his sword. He had put on his armor before he entered, but with the light show, he worries that this monster is more about magic than strength. Although all monsters can prove a challenge, the ones with particularly occult powers are the most difficult for Alfred to handle on his own.

Before he’s even seen a monster, Alfred is sweating and concerned. This is definitely different than the others, but what could he do other than push forward? Just as he’s about to round the next bend, he grips his sword tighter, and he takes a deep breath before he turns the corner to face the next trial…

And finds himself suddenly in a large open space- still cave surely but with high ceilings and a spacious field full of sunflowers. Nestled amongst the flowers in the far side of the cave is a well-kept manor house. Alfred almost drops his shield as he looks at this place... there’s a round beautiful lake in the center of the field, and instead of it being dark, the high ceiling is actually transparent. He can see still see the contours of the rock there if he looks closely, but it’s so opaque that he can see the sky beyond the stone.

The strangest thing of all, though, are the people in the clearing. They’re all barely clothed and beautiful, lounging around the lake or meandering through the flowers. Some of them are splashing and playing in the water. At first no one pays Alfred- stock still and clinging to his sword- any mind. Finally, a small cavorting elf-like child sees him and gives him a gap-toothed smile. He waves, and Alfred simply waves back. The child calls to a woman near the lake, and she rises to come to him.

Her hair is long and silver-blonde, and she has round purple eyes that sparkle happily. As she gets close, Alfred suddenly realizes that she’s tall- even taller than him- and rather well endowed. Her pink sundress clings in such a way to make this fact very apparent. When she speaks, there’s an accent to her voice that he doesn’t recognize.

“Welcome to my home, hero,” she says softly. “My name is Anya. Come and make yourself comfortable.”

—

Matthew isn’t sure he could be happier. Life with Jule has settled into a perfect routine, and every day he has time to paint or draw. Now that he’s settled into this new life, he has more time to meet the other artists, musicians, and dreamers in Jule’s temple house. They’re all varying types of people, and Matthew is especially excited to meet artists who have styles and specialties very different to his own. He’s no longer just “Jule’s new pet project” anymore, and he has friends and a life within the temple outside of Jule.

Even so, Jule is his favorite part. After spending the day with the artists, creating and collaborating and talking, Matthew finds himself in Jule’s bed. They aren’t so chaste anymore. Jule will settle him down into the sheets and strip him slowly. He has taken time to explore and memorize every inch of Matthew’s body. More than indecent, it’s almost sacrilege the way the other worships him with his artful hands and gentle lips. Matthew should be the one worshiping Jule so returns the favor as best as he can, but he’s new and inexperienced. Every moment of learning has been lovely, and Matthew has only one complaint.

They haven’t actually had sex. They’d done a variety of  _very_   _intimate_ things with their hands and mouths, but they hadn’t gone further yet. Jule told him that they were preparing, that having some experience first is important, and using his fingers and hands would get Matthew’s body prepared for his first time. The last thing that Jule wanted, he had said, was for Matthew’s first time to be overly uncomfortable or painful.

Matthew is too impatient for his own good though, because from what Jule has showed him with only his hands… honestly, he has trouble seeing how the other could possibly hurt him. 

Or perhaps, it’s only as amazing as it is because Matthew has a very attentive lover in bed with him. While Matthew dreams of his first time with Jule, he doesn’t realize that Alfred is coming to face the final, most difficult challenge of the mountain. He’d feel guilty if he knew, but for now his head is filled only with thoughts of Jule and the way his mouth tastes.

—

“So Anya,” Alfred asks as they walk toward the manor house. “Is this like the waiting room to get through to heaven or what…?”

Alfred doesn’t feel threatened, not yet at least, so he’s put his sword away for the time being. His shield is strapped to his back, and he hasn’t yet seen any signs of ill will. He’s still cautious, but this little clearing with all these happy people soothe his nerves.

Anya giggles quietly behind her hand and shakes her head. “Not at all. We are something a bit different.”

She leads him to the porch and as they step up onto it, the door swings open. A woman steps out with almost unnaturally straight hair, and she’s wearing a blue servant’s dress with an apron. The look in her eyes is so cold that Alfred jerks and reaches for his sword.

With another quiet giggle, Anya puts a hand over his. “This is Bela,” she says. “She is my sister. Her demeanor is frightening, but she’s a sweet girl really.” Anya turns to Bela and gently tucks her hair behind her ears. “Be nice, Bela.”

Bela turns red and looks away from her sister. Alfred looks uncertain, but he relaxes. Bela nods to him and gestures for him to enter. After a moment of cautiously looking her over for weapons, he deems it safe and moves past her into the house.

Despite the size on the outside of the building, it really doesn’t seem like a manor house on the inside at all. It's homey and comfortable, and something about it feels very relaxing to Alfred. It reminds him of better times, back when he was young, and his father and mother were still alive. Back when he didn’t have to struggle so hard to stay afloat in the world. This place somehow eases the loneliness that he’d been feeling since his brother was taken from him. If he wasn't so relaxed, he might’ve realized something was amiss.  

Then, he gets a bit distracted. He can feel Bela staring daggers into the back of his head, and after her cold introduction earlier, he definitely feels like he’s intruding somehow.

Still, Anya seems friendly enough for them both. “Let’s see if Tommy has the food ready hm?”

Then she opens the kitchen door. A man is standing there, preparing something in a pot that smells _utterly divine_. Alfred takes a step into the room without thinking about it, and then Tommy turns around. The man’s hair is red and short, and he is dressed in a rather common tunic and pants. He’s wearing an apron as well, but even despite the unflattering clothing, he looks strong and well built. This isn’t what’s really surprising though-- No, the most startling fact is that he has Cyril’s face. It’s softer and a bit rounder, and his eyes are a lovely shade of brown instead of the deep red of the war god’s. But it’s unmistakably Cyril’s face.

It’s Cyril if he were more human.

If Alfred had been paying attention, he might’ve seen Anya send a wide eyed almost amused expression at Bela. He might’ve seen Bela’s own surprise and the way she shrugs and gestures helplessly toward Alfred. Of course, he might not have understood the significance of any of it anyways and simply become more confused. As it is, however, he doesn’t notice it-- all he has eyes for is Tommy. The man gives him a slow smile, and it’s so earnest and sweet that Alfred suddenly feels quite warm. Tommy may look like Cyril, but his behavior is already markedly different. Even different though, all that heat and power that Alfred feels around Cyril is still there.

“Hey there, newbie,” Tommy says to him, the same voice as Cyril’s too but tone friendlier. It’s not quite so harsh and teasing. “So you’re the big hero huh? The kids told me a hero wandered in.” He steps close and presses a small sugary candy against his lips. “Try this, wouldya, golden boy?”

The sudden proximity doesn’t help combat Alfred’s confused thoughts, and heat rushes to his face. “Um oh well, I mean if you insist…?” he stammers out before he parts his lips for the sweet. It’s chewy and peach flavored, but as delicious as it is, Alfred’s full attention is on Tommy’s face.

“C’mon and sit down, big man,” Tommy says in a friendly tone, throwing his arm over Alfred’s shoulders. “I got dinner ready, and I don’t wanna see any of it wasted~”

Alfred just nods and lets himself be lead to the table. Others are coming in to eat, but Alfred pays them little mind. It’s fair though, because they don’t seem interested in him either. He ends up sitting with Tommy, Anya, and Bela at one end of the table, and the women keep looking at Tommy with extremely amused expressions.

Though he doesn’t understand the meaningful glances, for some reason they still embarrass him.

—

“So um, what exactly is this place then…?” Alfred asks as he pokes at the food in front of him.

“Oh! How do we say it… it’s like…?” Anya starts, tapping her fingertip against her lips.

Bela cuts in with a small cold voice. “A halfway house for heroes, you called it.”

“Yes, that. Thank you Bela.” Anya pecks Bela’s cheek, and the girl goes rather red. “We help the heroes lost between the world of the gods and the human realm. You see, not everyone who makes it to the top gets what they want. The gods aren’t so kind.”

Tommy’s expression twists just a bit. “Some of us, after we get up there, they don’t help. So we’re stuck going back down again. That’s how I found this place. These two, they helped me when I had no one else.”

Perhaps it’s simply because Tommy has the face of his newest comrade, but Alfred itches to help solve whatever problem the gods wouldn’t help him with. He looks between the three of them again.

“But why did you two decide to make this place?” Then he pauses. “And more importantly how?”

Anya laughs softly and arches a brow. “We are sorceresses. We were cursed by a god because we wouldn’t join them. In petty revenge, our entire village was destroyed. We were homeless and lost. That is why we made this place to help others abandoned by the fickle gods.”

This all makes far too much sense to Alfred, and it certainly sounds plausible. He had heard tales of gods punishing humans for not joining their cause or destroying those who are disobedient. He knows he can’t trust any of these three, but he wants to. It’s plain enough to see in Anya’s smile that she has many secrets, and Bela might as well be an alien for all he knew of her. Then Tommy, with Cyril’s face and voice, is a whole other mystery.

“I guess… all that makes sense then,” Alfred murmurs softly. “But which god did it to you?”

“The War God, Cyril. He wanted our powers for his army.”

Alfred is stunned for a moment, and he feels cold, like someone dumped ice down his back. Although Cyril has a terrible reputation, Alfred wants to believe that he's better than that. He licks his lips, mouth suddenly rather dry, and asks, “You’re saying all these people tried climbing the mountain to Heaven and failed??”

She nods and urges him to eat. “Yes, all of these people failed. And we gave them help afterwards. This talk is too depressing, though yes? Let’s eat please~”

Alfred nods and picks at his food, eyes straying to Tommy as he wonders how such a man came to be in this house. 

—

Although he does enjoy her smiles and sweet voice, Alfred has to admit that he’s honestly not sad to see Anya leave. Okay, partly because she takes hold of Bela’s hand and leads her away too. Bela might be nice if one is well acquainted with her, but Alfred is sick and tired of the glaring and the silent treatment. It also gives him time alone with Tommy since they were the last four left still sitting at the table. Other people from the field have passed through to eat, talk, and make merry, but Alfred doesn't have much attention to spare for them between Anya, Bela, and Tommy. So when they go, Alfred can focus on unraveling the mysterious man with Cyril's face. Anya had left Tommy in charge of leading him to his room for the night, and it gave him a good chance to ask the man about his life. It’s probably the least relevant information to Alfred’s journey, but he has to know.

“So,” Alfred says, looking almost shy as the other finishes the dishes. “You been here long?”

“You’re interested in me, are you?” Tommy says, giving him a lopsided smile. “I’ve been here pretty long.”

Alfred’s chews his lip- he doesn’t want to intrude, but he feels drawn to this man with his warm eyes and suave smiles. “And uh, did you make it to the top? Did you see the gods?”

Tommy sighs and dries his hands. “Well yes, yes and no.” He looks and sees Alfred’s face, all full of uncertainty and awkwardness. He favors him with a smile and very gently takes Alfred’s hand. “But c’mon. I’ll show you your room. We can talk while we walk~”

Now a bit flustered, Alfred nods, and he squeezes his hand, unsure why he doesn't let go. Tommy only smiles at him gently before leading him through the house and up the stairs into a hall full of bedrooms.

“I got to the gates, and the god I wanted to talk to… they refused to see me. Said that I wasn’t important enough and that fate had already been set. They flat out wouldn’t help me.”

 Alfred is a bit apprehensive as Tommy opens the bedroom door, but it’s a normal room. Still no tricks or attacks or fanged beasties. Alfred goes in and sits on the bed, and Tommy releases his hand to go stand next to the window.

“Why not? What, uh, what were you asking for?” Alfred sees Tommy stiffen and wonders if he’s overstepped his boundaries.

“My sister,” he explains after a long moment of uncomfortable silence. “She caught sick and died. The entrance to the underworld is so secret and hard to find I thought I’d come here instead. I’d ask to see the God of the Underworld but…" Tommy shrugs. "He refused to come talk to me.”

Alfred is starting to scowl. Though logically this unusually welcoming home in this beautiful spot is rather suspicious, Alfred can’t find it in him to be distrustful of these nice people. He’s detected no maliciousness, and he wants to believe Tommy is as good as he seems.

“You wanted to bring your sister back to life,” Alfred mumbles softly, heart aching for him. “But they didn’t help you?”

“No, my only family left in the world, and the gods let her die because of ‘fate'? Bullshit!” Tommy’s voice is full of venom for a moment, but he relaxes. He starts to smile again and he makes his way to sit next to Alfred on the bed.

“But ya know, on the way back down, I found this place. Anya and Bela, they know powerful old magic. They protect this place- shelter the lonely and the lost. I had no place to go home to and no way to get my sister back… so they made me part of their family.”

He looks into Tommy’s eyes, trying to figure out if he can trust this man with Cyril’s face. A reminder that the women of the house are sorceresses makes him feel unsafe again, and perhaps his apprehension shows on his face.

“I can see that you’re not so happy about that,” Tommy says with a laugh. “But lookit like this: if they wanted to hurt you they would’ve. They had plenty of chances right?’

Alfred finally nods and tries to relax. “I suppose that’s true. They did feed me too so they coulda poisoned me and didn’t…”

“You’re safe, Alfred,” he says, and he takes his hand again. There’s something in the way that his name sounds on Tommy’s lips that makes him shiver. “Hey… I know it’s a bit personal, but what’re you going up the mountain for?”

“Oh me?” He fidgets and plays with Tommy’s fingers. Normally he wouldn’t let someone he just met touch him this way, but it doesn’t feel like the first time. He’s the softer sweeter version of Cyril, and he makes Alfred’s heart do strange things. “Well, they took my brother… I’m going to get him back.”

Tommy’s expression becomes one of distress, heartbreak and disappointment in his eyes. “What if they won’t let you take him back though? The gods are very jealous with their ‘toys.’”

“I don’t… I don’t think it’s like that though. My brother is in the temple of his patron. I think that he’d let him come home if Matthew asked him nice…”

“I dunno, Al,” he replies, expression strained. “That’s only if the god really truly cares about him right? And if your brother actually wants to come home. Seems like a long shot…” 

There’s pity on Tommy’s expression now, and Alfred wars with his anxieties. He’s been thinking about those very things too, but to have someone actually say it to him makes him second guess his resolve.

“I’m trying to be optimistic alright?” Alfred says after a moment, voice angry and sad. He glares down at his feet “Just- just let me have that much alright?”

Tommy becomes apologetic almost instantly. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t have any luck, but hey maybe you will!” He lifts up Alfred’s chin and looks into his eyes. “Let’s do something fun yeah? The others are going to bed soon. We can go down and take a night time dip in the lake!”

After a moment of weighing the pros and cons of such a plan, Alfred finally smiles. “Sure. Let’s go down to the lake.” He still picks his backpack up, unwilling to be without his supplies and weapons. If Tommy is offended by his cautiousness, he doesn’t say anything about it.

They sneak down hand in hand to the lake. Alfred knows he might be knee deep in trouble already, but he really wants to see more of Tommy’s warm smiles.

—

Cyril sits in one of his favorite drawing rooms- it’s plush and finely arranged. Unlike Jule’s austere almost museum-like home, Cyril’s home is built for comfort. A portion of his things are from the human world, and his manor is very richly furnished. He favors wood unlike so many of the stone buildings in heaven, and so he uses a bit deeper colors- dark red couches, plush green carpets, painstakingly woven tapestries arranged around the building.

Much can be said about Cyril’s shortcomings, but he’s rather tasteful about the design of his home.

Today, all the comfort in the world isn't enough to soothe him. He’s staring into a large mirror, the surface of the glass alive with color and movement. In the image, Alfred wades through the sunflowers towards Anya’s manor, and Cyril frowns. Although he knows that there’s no way for him to get around this final stage, Cyril wants to pluck Alfred out of the situation immediately.

This trial is where a person’s will is tested. Up until this point, Alfred had been battling monsters, and monsters are pretty straight forward. Magic and temptation and trickery seem to be a bit more difficult for Alfred to handle, and Cyril knows that these women would be able to sense how to tempt him. There are two major things that are unsettling particularly.

The first is the sheer amount of temptation before Alfred. For some warriors, their greatest temptations are beautiful people or lovely scenery or amazing food. So far, he’d seen a lot of amazing things in this landscape- attractive women and men, food, beauty, nature. So either they’ve pulled out all the stops for Alfred or they aren’t sure which things suit him best. Of course, the amount of attractive people in the fields around Alfred doesn’t sit well with Cyril. He’s a jealous god, and he’s chosen Alfred as his.

The second concern walks out of the door of the manor as Alfred gets close. The look in her blue eyes is almost razor sharp. Even through the mirror, Bela is an extremely intimidating person. She gives Alfred a look so cold that he reacts to it, putting his hand on his hilt. Cyril lets out a long low sigh- Bela particularly dislikes warriors who go through this challenge.

Alfred doesn’t know what he’s in for. As Alfred walks through the door of the manor, Bela turns toward Cyril. At first, he thinks she’s just looking at someone beyond his vantage point, but then she makes perfect eye contact with him. The edges of her lips tug down into an expression of disapproval, and she shakes her head slowly. Cyril’s eyes widen and he reaches toward the glass.

“No I just wanna—.”

But Bela waves her hand, and the image in the glass becomes cloudy and dark. Cyril sits back and puts his head in his hands. The only way for Cyril to get into that manor now that they’ve started the trial was to have one of his humans call for him. With Alfred being his only human inside, well, fat chance of that happening.

He’d have to wait it out and hope that Alfred is ready for this. What’s worse- he doesn't even get to see what they tempted Alfred with… he had been counting on getting a few hints from this test to lure the man into his cult. Not the most honorable intention, perhaps, but Cyril needs all the advantages he can get. For all his powers, he isn’t sure how to even begin to tempt such an irreligious man into his home. 

—

When he settles down into Jule’s bed for the night, Matthew kisses the back of his god’s neck and curls in against his back. “Jule~” he says softly. “Are you awake?” He snuggles him closer, hands starting to wander over his arms and up along his chest.

“I’m awake,” Jule finally says, voice sounding sleepy but not irritated. He rolls over and pulls Matthew into his arms.

“Good,” he replies and he moves in close, pressing kisses to Jule’s jaw. “I didn’t see you today.”

“I was busy,” Jule says softly back, enjoying Matthew’s kisses. After several slow, sweet kisses, he finally takes hold of Matthew, pressing him down against the bed beneath him. “But I missed you too.”

Matthew flashes a wide grin at him as Jule nudges his legs apart and settles in on top of him. “Did you really?” Matthew asks, but he can see the truth in Jule's eyes. He just wants his ego stroked even more.

Jule simply nods, though, and cups Matthew’s cheek as he leans down to kiss him rather passionately. Almost instantly, Matthew is responding with equal enthusiasm, but when he tries to tangle his fingers into his hair, Jule catches his wrists and presses his hands down against the bed. Then he pulls back from his kiss, and he looks down into Matthew’s eyes. The intensity of his expression makes Matthew writhe a little and blush darkly.

“Jule,” he whines softly. “Let me touch you…”

“In a moment,” Jule says. “I’m admiring the view.” And Jule takes his time, eyes sliding purposefully over Matthew's face.  The only sound breaking the quiet is their soft panting.

“Please?” Matthew finally says, trying to catch Jule’s lips another deep kiss. The scrutiny has him flustered, cheeks red and fingers trembling with the need to touch.

Jule evades with a smirk, and only when Matthew is falling back onto the pillows with a pout does Jule finally speak. “Tonight,” he says, voice gruff. “Tonight, you become mine.”

Matthew’s eyes go wide, and he starts to speak before Jule suddenly grinds their hips together. His words are cut off in a moan of pleasure, and he grips his god tight. Jule moves to leave nips and kisses at his neck as his hands slide down along his body. It takes Matthew several more moments of grinding and kissing before he can speak.

Right against his ear and panting for breath, Matthew says, “I was always yours… It’s just that tonight you’re  _finally_ claiming me.”

“Claim you…?” Jule repeats as he pulls back and looks into his face. He rolls the words over in his head before giving him a smirk. “Yes, I’m claiming you.” Jule moves suddenly and clamps his teeth down on his neck. Matthew cries out in pleasure pain as Jule proceeds to suck and lick and tease the spot with his teeth and tongue. He knows that this will leave a huge mark on his skin, but Matthew isn’t embarrassed.

In fact, it feels so good that he reaches down and grabs Jule’s ass, forcing the god above him to start grinding again. Jule lets out a ragged breath and moves to claim his lips again. For several moments, they’re too passionate to get much done, only able to focus on their rough kisses. They grasp at each other, starting to rock and move together, but their hands tremble too much to get their clothes off. In a little fit of irritation, Matthew tugs harshly at Jule’s top, trying to get it off, and the fabric rips.

“Let me,” Jule says before suddenly their clothes are simply gone.

“Neat trick,” Matthew says before he leans in and bites Jule’s bottom lip.

Their hearts are racing as they continue to make out on the sheets, but this isn’t enough for Matthew. He’d been waiting for too long. “Please,” Matthew begs, already shaking with need. “Please take me.”

Jule, unable to say no to his little artist, moves to prepare him, and then he gives Matthew everything that he wants.


	8. Injurious Enchantments

The field is beautiful at night, and Alfred is stunned by how clear the lake is. The place is so obviously magic that Alfred should be on edge, but it’s so picturesque and calming that it’s difficult to worry. Tommy snatches snacks from the kitchen before he drags him down through the sunflowers to a large maple tree by the water. There he starts to pull his clothes off. When Alfred hesitates and blushes, Tommy pokes his side.

“C’mon,” Tommy says, flashing him a grin. “Get that armor off and get in here.”

Tommy tosses his clothes over a tree branch before moving to jump into the water. For a moment, Alfred is too stunned to move- he’d gotten quite the eyeful of the other’s body. His cheeks are still red as he undresses as well, and he tries to keep his body turned away from the other. When he’s finished, he hurries into the water, leaping in to hide his nudity. He comes up for air and gasps. 

“Shit, that’s cold,” he cries, beaming with happiness. Fun is something Alfred has definitely been missing.

“It’s not that cold. Don’t be a whiner.” Tommy grins at him and splashes him in the face. Alfred sputters and flails in surprise, cursing as he tries to get water out of his face. Before he’s settled, Tommy is already swimming away. Taunting him no doubt.

“Get your ass back here,” Alfred shouts, and he swims after him.

So the games begin.

—

Elizaveta is in Roderich’s room again, but this time with a message. “Alfred is taking the last trial right now,” she says as she enters, not wasting time with chit chat. “I thought his brother would like to know.”

Roderich is sitting at a desk, editing a page of sheet music. He looks up and blinks at her. “What…? Oh right yes, Matthew’s brother is coming.” He turns red and adjusts his clothing. “You’re a bit late though. I can’t go tell him now.”

With a sigh, she walks over to his bed and sits on the edge. “And why not?”

“He’s been spending his nights… ah, with the master of the house,” he says and clears his throat. “I’m quite sure I shouldn’t disturb them.”

“Fabulous. Alfred’s out there risking his damn neck, and his brother is shacking up with his god,” Elizaveta says, irritation in her tone. “I guess that’s how it always goes.”

The tone of her voice has Roderich rising and coming to sit at her side. “It’ll happen how it happens regardless of what Matthew is doing now, correct?” he says as he takes her hand. “Why should this bother you?”

“It just does,” she says. It’s something that’s been weighing on her mind, because she remembers all too well what being alone on a battlefield feels like. She squeezes his hand. “I know it’s stupid to get too attached to someone going through trials like he is, but he’s a good kid. Young and impertinent but with some real guts. Maybe I’m just upset that he’s out there struggling and his brother doesn’t even know.”

Suddenly Roderich smiles, and his expression softens in understanding. “You’re just upset that you’re worrying over him. Even if Matthew worried too, it wouldn’t make you worry any less, hm?” He wraps an arm around her and pulls her in against him. It looks a bit strange perhaps because her armor is still on and is rather hefty- in Roderich's opinion anyways-, and he is so small and simply dressed in comparison.

“If he makes it here, Cyril wants him to join his house,” she says back. “And in that case, he becomes my comrade. I can’t help but worry.”

“Ah yes,” he says back. “But it seems like you already consider him your comrade, to worry over him like this.”

After a moment, Elizaveta shrugs and turns to him, hugging him back now. “Perhaps I do. There’s no way to help him now though.”

Roderich smiles a little and strokes her hair. Even though she was one of the best tacticians in heaven, she could still be so caring and vulnerable. He knows that he’s the one she comes to when she wants to show that side of herself, and he's rather smug that she trusts him like that.

“Come, take off your armor and I’ll give you a massage,” he tells her gently. “Take your mind off things for a while.”

Elizaveta smiles and arches a brow. “How could I say no to that?” she says, and she moves to pull her armor off. She couldn’t help Alfred now, and she knows that she should relax and wait it out. Perhaps a nice massage is just what she needs. Roderich is too lazy and self-indulgent to offer them often, so she’d take advantage of the mood.

—

Tommy grabs Alfred around the middle and drags him back into the water. They struggle briefly, Alfred startled that the other is so strong, but Tommy is the one that ends up dunked beneath the water. He comes up laughing, and Alfred huffs at him, cheeks red and body tingling with the memory of their embrace.

“Awww, c’mon,” Tommy says, grinning as he comes close. “Let me dunk you at least once! You got me a coupla times already!”

With his cheeks till pink, Alfred shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, you have to earn things like that.”  He’s still thinking about how Tommy had felt pressed up against his back, and he’s trying to calm down. Tommy, with his tanned skin and playful eyes, knows just how to tease and flirt with him, and Alfred doesn’t know how to handle it. As Tommy swims near again, naughtiness in his expression, Alfred takes a breath and backs toward shore. He has controlled himself so far but very much more playful touching would probably lead to things he might regret.

“We’ve been playing for a while now,” he says, “Let’s, uh, have that snack yeah?”

Tommy pouts at him and wades toward him as they get into the shallow water. “Awww, you just want to get out before I get you good.”

“No! I’m not scared of you!” Alfred says, trying to keep his body turned away from Tommy, shy about letting the other see him. He usually isn’t that modest about his body. Plenty of his comrades had seen him bathing or went swimming with him before, but Tommy is different.

Just as he gets up onto the bank, Tommy catches up to him, and he walks at his side for just a moment.

“So…” he starts, tone still teasing. “It’s quite the bright full moon tonight huh?”

As Alfred is processing what he’s implying, Tommy smacks his ass and makes a run back toward their clothes.

Alfred goes stone still for a moment before crying out in distress. “What the hell man! That was uncalled for!!!” Even so, he chases after him through the grass, calling him names as Tommy laughs. When he catches up, Alfred tackles him and they go rolling through flowers. “Say you’re sorry!” Alfred says as he pins him down and looks down into his face. “Apologize!!”

At first, he doesn’t realize how intimate this position is, staring down into Tommy’s face. Then Tommy’s expression becomes soft, losing that teasing edge, and Alfred blushes. He’s quite suddenly aware of how close together they are, how much skin is touching, and how wonderful Tommy looks when he smiles.

“My bad,” Tommy whispers softly, eyes sparkling. Then he leans up and just barely brushes their lips together.

“O-oh, uh,” Alfred says back, and then he pulls free, getting to his feet and hurrying back toward his clothes without another word. This is definitely dangerous, and Alfred knows he needs to get out of this place. The admittance that he needs to flee doesn’t even hurt his pride. He knows it’d be much too easy to fall into such a sweet man’s arms.

“Hey, wait, no I’m sorry,” Tommy says, and he comes up behind Alfred as he’s putting his clothes back on. “I went over the line, just… it’s been so long since I connected with someone the way I do with you…”

Once his clothes are on, Alfred turns and pushes Tommy’s clothes into his hand. “I get it,” Alfred says back, expression embarrassed and a little tight. “But I’ve got a mission and you… you have a life here.”

Tommy pouts, but he does pull his pants back on at least. “But you feel this too huh?” he asks as he takes hold of his chin. He locks eyes with such an expression of sincere feeling that Alfred’s breath catches. “You feel this as much as I do.”

“I… Maybe, I dunno. I mean, you’re great, Tommy, but this is really quick, yeah?”

“Sometimes, that’s how feelings are!” he interjects. “Doesn’t make’em less real…!”

Alfred squirms and backs up against the maple tree they’d stashed their things under. “I have a mission Tommy, you know I can’t stay.”

“You could! You said it yourself- your brother might even want to stay, might not even come back with you. What then?? Then you’re alone and your brother chose someone else over you. If your mission fails, you’re worse off, and if you succeed…” Tommy's voice is so earnest, so pleading, and Alfred hates how it affects him. 

Alfred feels his back against the bark now, and Tommy is close, so very close, to him that it’s hard to think. “If I succeed…?” he asks, voice strained. He couldn’t see any downsides to a successful mission.

Tommy’s expression is full of pity. “If you succeed and he comes back with you, then you’re cutting his life short. In heaven he’s young and strong forever, but on earth…”

It’s like a lead weight being dropped straight into his stomach- Alfred hadn’t considered that at all. That by bringing his brother back to Earth he’s sentencing him to a shorter life. “That’s… that’s  unavoidable- part of being human,” he mumbles back. “I’d make sure his life was happy…”

But he doesn’t sound as certain as he did before. If he leaves Matthew there, he has eternal youth indefinitely right? Maybe he wouldn’t get to be with him, but Alfred being alone knowing his brother is safe might be better than bringing him back down to Earth. Even if he managed to convince him to come back, his brother might end up dying in the next raid.

Tommy interrupts his thoughts. “You could stay here with me. You could both be happy and safe,” his voice trembles, clearly quite earnest in his declaration. “I’ll be with you. We could spend our days here, away from the pain of the world and the capricious gods.”

“I…” But Alfred doesn’t know what to say. He trembles and looks into his face.

“Gimme a chance to make you happy Alfred,” he mumbles quietly, and he leans in to kiss him sweetly on the lips.

Alfred’s hands come up to his chest, palms flat, but he doesn’t push him away. Shyly, he kisses him back, and his heart beats faster. He can feel that power, that strength, radiating off of him the same way it does when he’s with Cyril. Even the scent of him is like Cyril’s, and Alfred trembles under the affection of it. For several heartbeats, Alfred forgets that this isn’t the War God he’s spent the last few weeks in alliance with. When Tommy pulls back to smile at him, Alfred’s eyes are closed as he processes what just happened.

As he processes the emotions that come from contact with the War God, Alfred can almost picture the infuriating smirk that Cyril must have, the piercing expression of want, the smug way he’d respond (“Wasn’t so bad after all, huh little hawk?”). It’s so clear to him how this scene must play out that when he opens his eyes to find Tommy instead—with his sweet smile and imploring eyes— Alfred is startled. He realizes suddenly how overwhelming wrong, how fake, this all feels. He’s frozen in place until Tommy finally frowns.

“What’s wrong golden boy?”

“No!” Alfred says and he shoves him back. “No no this is…I don’t know what this is, but it’s not right. It’s so fake and wrong and… Just no I have to leave.” He’s grabbing his things up. “I have to get the hell out of here.”

Tommy frowns, but he doesn’t come close. “Wait what’s wrong? Stay until the morning at least!”

“No! I have work to get done,” Alfred says back as he starts to stomp across the sunflower field.

At first, Tommy grabs his hand and attempts to pull him back. After a brief struggle, Alfred shakes him off and keeps heading toward the mouth of the cave.

“You can’t go!” Tommy says, voice suddenly hard. “Even if you left, you wouldn’t be able to get to heaven.”

Alfred stops and turns just barely. “And why is that…?”

“The last emblem, the seal? Anya has it. Keeps it locked up in there. She doesn’t trust the gods. She doesn’t want anyone else to get there and be hurt or killed by them. Not all of them come back down alive you know.”

Alfred turns to look into his face and gauge if he’s being honest. There’s hurt and disappointment in the man’s face, but there’s something else too. A hard edge that tells Alfred if he wants that seal then he’s going to have to fight for it.

“Where is it??” he asks.

Tommy frowns and looks away, jaw tight. “It’s in the backroom on the first floor. But she’ll never let you have it—“

But Alfred doesn’t stay to listen. He is running back toward the house to try to get to it before the sorceresses realize he’s coming.

—

Matthew lies in bed and watches Jule sleep. Though they’d cleaned each other after their love making, neither of them had put clothing back on. Jule’s face is pressed against Matthew’s chest, and his hair is falling over his arms and chest. Matthew leans in and kisses the god’s hair.

“I love you,” he says softly. “Maybe in the most impious way possible, but I love you so much.”

If Jule hears him, he doesn’t respond, though he does curl Matthew closer in his arms. After a long moment, Matthew wraps his arms around his shoulders and tangles their legs together.

“Good night,” he whispers softly, and he settles into the best sleep he’s had in a long time.

—

Finding the room is easy- it’s locked but that hardly stops him. As he’s trying to get the emblem out of its case though, Anya bursts into the room. Her hair is wild and messy, and she’s wearing a night gown that trails down to her ankles. The door must’ve had a spell of some sort to wake her up. Alfred freezes, but the emblem is in hand already.

“You can’t leave with that,” Anya says, expression fierce. “I’ll not send any more men to that Kingdom.”

“You don’t know that I’ll fail!” he says back, tone imploring. All he really wants is to be able to talk her down without a fight. He doesn’t want to hurt this woman. He’d seen the home she’d built and the people that depend on her.

“And if you succeed then what? You become a servant to those treacherous gods. No, you’ll turn back or you’ll die. That’s what will happen now.” She raises her hand, ice appearing over her skin and coating her fingers. She throws her hand out, a wicked sharp blade of ice flying toward him.

Alfred dodges it and watches as it embeds itself into the wall behind him. He turns back toward Anya and glares at her. “I have to see my brother,” he says. He doesn’t reach for his sword, not yet, because even with this woman attacking him, he is determined that this will end without death.

He isn’t the kind of person that took that kindness for granted, and Anya could be incredibly kind. Alfred grabs a torch from the wall, and he brandishes it at the ice now crawling over the floor, turning the room into a slick ice trap. He makes his way toward her, carefully putting the flame in between them.

“Fire?” Anya says, and she laughs. “I’ve had plenty of practice with that.” 

A huge burst of wind hits him, knocking the torch from his hands and it rolls across the room. The wind should’ve put out the flame, but it’s still burning lowly. The two combatants are too focused on each other to notice it though, and the flame quietly grows in strength again. It climbs up onto the curtain slowly as Alfred draws a dagger.

If he used such a small blade, perhaps he could injure her without wounding her badly enough to die. All he needs is time to escape. He charges at her, and he leaps at her, intending to tackle her into the ground. Suddenly she’s not there anymore at all, and he rams into the wall quite painfully. He whirls around, dagger in hand, and she’s standing behind him. Ice and snow swirl around her hands, and she looks positively murderous.

“If you won’t draw your sword hero, you won’t have a chance.” Anya smiles at him, and the expression is more intimidating that he’d have thought possible.

So he relents, putting his dagger away. He pulls his sword out and points it at her. It has magic, Cyril said it has magic, but Alfred still doesn’t know how to use it. A little magic is precisely what he needs just now. The entire curtain is on fire, and it’s making the room hot and hard to think.

‘Please,’ Alfred thinks softly to the sword. ‘Help me! I just need some help! Cyril is waiting for me!’

As he thinks this, Anya prepares another round of ice to fling at him, and he leaps to the side. Alfred slips as he tries to land on the ice properly, twisting his foot awkwardly and falling down. During the leap, he’d dropped the blade in front of him, and he sees that it’s glowing now. It’s bright and hot, radiating energy. As he grabs the blade again, the floorboards beneath him crack and burst as rock slams up. He stands shakily, his ankle weak and tender. He thinks it must be sprained.

“Earth?” he says quietly. “Earth magic?” He takes a breath and he looks at Anya- her expression has changed now, one of disgust.

“That sword, you’re the War God’s errand dog?” She snarls, and the temperature in the room suddenly drops. The flames go down as well as the force of the ice witch’s power grows. “He sent you in here himself did he?”

But Alfred doesn’t have time to argue. He stands as tall as he’s able, holding the blade up above his head, and aiming the point at the ground. He says to the blade, “Please just knock her down, trap her. Something. Just don’t kill her.” Then he slams the blade down into the earth.

The floor cracks in a crooked line between them and stones and ground crash through the wooden boards to slam into Anya’s chest. She falls back against the wall, and Alfred starts to turn toward the door- but it’s full from bottom to top with a solid ice wall. He has to take Anya out if he wants to leave.  

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says as he turns to her again. She’s pinned beneath rock and stone now, and she glares at him.

“If you want to get out of here, you’ll have to.” Without her summoning more ice and snow, the fire is starting to grow, a chair and desk now on fire as well. He makes his way toward her then, jaw tight.  

“I’ll do what I have to do then…” And he approaches her limping on his injured foot, trying to calm the objections ringing in his ears. Killing someone trapped? Hurting them when they’re already out of commission? Sure their magic is still quite active, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. As he tries to decide what to do, he’s going a bit too slow.

Anya grins as he gets close, and he’s taken by surprise- the rocks around her explode outwards towards him, but now they’re frozen and filled with ice. It catches him squarely in the chest and he’s more than certain that he felt several ribs snap. He doesn’t have time to think though, because she’s on top of him. She’s forming a long blade of ice in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I have to protect my home too.”

And there it was, the kill or be killed moment, and Alfred is still conflicted about hurting a woman who just wants to have a happy safe life after a lot of bad that’s happened to her. He reaches for his sword but then he remembers.

Perhaps it isn’t do or die after all. He gets a handful of dust that he’d gotten from Jule from the pouch at his belt, and as she brings the icy blade down toward him, he slams a hand up toward her face, pressing the dust against her mouth and nose and eyes. The blade of ice falls and, though it slices open his side as it lands next to him, it isn’t nearly as bad as being stabbed.

Anya pitches forward, unconscious, and he rolls her off of him. The room is in disarray, and the furniture is on fire. It’s too damp to burn for long, but he still needs a way out of the ice. His ribs are broken, and his side is bleeding rather badly. He has all the emblems, but he has no way out. Just as he’s limping his way toward the door to at least try to use his sword on the ice, it cracks in the center and bursts apart. He falls backwards, hitting the ground rather hard, and he curses colorfully.

When he looks up though, he gasps and grabs at his sword. Bela is standing at the door looking like an avenging angel, anger in her eyes and seeming more than capable of smiting him on the spot. She looks toward her fallen sister, then back towards him, bleeding and wounded.

“She’s not dead,” Alfred says quickly as he scrambles to his feet. “Just asleep. All the blood, it’s all mine…It’s just mine. Don’t attack please.” He’s stammering and beginning to cough. He isn’t sure he can handle fighting this other witch too.

After a moment of hesitation, Bela is at her sister’s side, and she finds that his words are honest. Alfred is limping past as fast as he can, hoping to make it out of the room before she tries anything. Then she looks up with those sharp blue eyes, and they stare at one another.

“Please,” Alfred breathes out softly. “Let me go.”

Bela frowns at him, expression rather severe, but then she turns and looks back at her sister instead, leaning down to soothe her and care for her. So Alfred is free to leave. He hobbles past them into the hallway… but his foot aches, and his side is bleeding. His ribs must have punctured something soft because he can taste blood in his mouth.

As he stumbles down the hallway, Tommy rounds the corner and stares at him with those damnable gentle eyes and imploring expression. The doppelganger steps forward toward him as if to help him, but Alfred shakes his head.

 “No!” he says. “No, not you. I don’t want you.” He limps past him, but after a few steps, he has to stop to sag against the wall. He hears Tommy gasp from behind him and start to plead with him, but Alfred ignores him. His head is swimming now that the adrenaline of the moment has passed, and he feels dizzy. At this rate even if he made it out of the house, he’d never get to the cave. He needs help but not Tommy. Not this man with the familiar face who makes all the wrong expressions. This isn’t who he wants at all.

As he coughs and tastes blood again, he gasps out softly, “Cyril. Cyril please. I  _need_ you.” Alfred takes another step and pitches forward.

But he never hits the ground. He’s caught in a pair of strong, warm arms, and even as he’s falling unconscious, he feels completely safe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art at the end by the ever lovely [ spacedrunk ](http://spacedrunk.tumblr.com/)


	9. Waking up with the Elder Gods

Jule is sleeping comfortably in Matthew’s arms, but he still dreams- or at least shares the dreams of his followers. Gods can dream, of course, but humans could be infinitely more creative than even he is. He enjoys himself in this way, floating through the different dreams of humans. As he’s watching the dream of a child that frequents his temple, he feels a tug.

It’s a familiar pull, magic dragging him toward a dream. Hopefully Alfred has used his gift finally, because he really rather wants to talk to the man before he arrives. When he finds this dream, it’s a field full of bright sunflowers, and the person standing there is quite a surprise.

“Anya??” he asks, pausing to dip into a respectful bow before approaching her. His expression must betray his surprise.

“You expected to find Alfred I think, yes?” she says, and she embraces Jule. She’s always rather liked this sleepy quiet god.

“Yes,” he mumbles softly back. He’s a bit red, but he returns her hug. “My magic isn’t powerful enough to put you to sleep though…”

Anya smiles in a way that always puts Jule on edge. Like she knows so much more than him, and he’ll never be able to learn enough to catch up. “I know, but blades don’t work either, and I feign death for heroes all the time. That one, he was really dedicated to a peaceful resolution.” 

“Surprising, for one of my brother’s favorites.” Jule uses the moment to take a step back away from her. Suddenly, the dream changes and they’re in a richly furnished sitting room.

“Sit, Jule,” Anya says, and she offers him a glass. He knows without tasting it that it’s vodka. She always did have a fondness for it. “I’d like to talk a bit.”

“Of course,” he says. “I take it that Alfred made it through your trial?”

She nods and sips at her own drink as she sits across from him. “He did. Not only that, he rather impressed Bela as well.”

Jule’s eyes go a bit wide, and he shifts uncertainly. “So?”

“So I don’t think we should let this little darling get away, do you?”

—

Matthew wakes up with the sound of a bell. It’s loud and impossible to ignore, and it’s how Jule’s followers move into his room without a prior magical invitation. When he sits up though, Jule is still breathing quite peacefully, so Matthew realizes that he’s going to need to see what’s going on. He rises, hurrying to dress while the bell continues to sound. Finally he takes a breath and smooths his clothing down.

“Come in!” he calls. He sits in the chair near the bed, trying to appear composed. Although he’s sure that the other followers know that he’s been frequenting Jule’s bed, he’s not quite ready to be caught nude beneath his sheets with him. The curtain shimmers, and for a moment Matthew sees a different room beyond the fabric.

Then Roderich enters, expression conflicted. He’s clearly not sure if his news is good or bad.

“It’s Alfred!” he says to Matthew, not even waiting to see if Jule is awake enough to hear and understand him. “He made it into Heaven. He bested the last trial during the night, and he’s in Cyril’s manor house.”

Matthew leaps to his feet, surprise and concern on his face. “He’s here?? And okay?? What happened? What trial?”

“I don’t know,” Roderich says. “I just know that he’s here, and that he passed the trials.”

“Oh, I have to—“ Matthew turns to Jule to try and wake him up. Even after a moment of gentle prodding and calling his name, Jule doesn’t respond, and dread rises into Matthew’s throat. “Hey, hey Jule wake up!!”

Before he can really be worked into a frenzy though, Roderich catches his wrists, and he gives him a stern expression. “Someone must’ve contacted him in his dreams. Let’s wait for him to wake up. It’s nothing to worry about.” 

It takes him a second to fully process his words, but then he feels a bit silly. He meekly asks, “So it’s normal…?”

Roderich nods. “Yes, now come and sit. We’ll have breakfast and talk about your brother. Elizaveta has just come from Cyril’s this morning, and she knows more than I do.”

—

Alfred wakes up in a plush bed. His armor is off, and he’s only in his pants, legs tangled in the bedspread. His chest and stomach have been tightly bandaged, and though he feels a bit light-headed, he’s actually not feeling too bad for what he went through before passing out. At first, he stares up at the ceiling as he tries to orient himself.

When he finally tries to sit up, the first thing he realizes is that someone is holding his hand. He looks over and finds Cyril leaning down against his pillow. He’s sitting on a chair and slumped over the bedside. All of his waking bluster and cockiness is gone, and he looks rather peaceful. Alfred can feel his cheeks get hot as he remembers Tommy- with his sweet smiles and gentle looks. Suddenly those expressions don’t seem quite strange anymore, and Alfred can almost picture Cyril himself making them…

Then he shakes his head and sits up a bit straighter. First things first, he needs to wake the god up and figure out where he is. Of course, he remembers Cyril catching him and can almost feel the god’s arms around him... but after that it’s a blur. He’d fully and truly entrusted himself to Cyril and, well, so far so good. The room he’s in is elegant and comfortable, and the bed is the most luxurious thing he’s ever been on.

Alfred looks down at the sleeping god, and he smiles. Gently, he leans down and kisses the top of Cyril’s head. “Thank you,” he mumbles gently. “Thank you for helping me.”

In all good heroic stories that Alfred’s ever heard, Cyril would wake just in time to hear his words or feel the kiss- an accidental romantic reveal. But the War God continues to sleep. Alfred pouts a little, and he turns a bit red. Somehow, that’s what he’d hoped for- having Cyril catch him being intimate or sweet- because he knows that once the god is awake it’ll be hard for him to offer him thanks. After his run in with Tommy, Alfred is really starting to reevaluate his feelings for this rough smirking god, but it’ll surely be more time until Alfred can show these changes directly to Cyril.

Well that is going to be his little secret then. Maybe one day, he’ll be able to do such things with Cyril awake and aware, but now is not that time. He pulls his hands free from Cyril’s, and he shakes his shoulder. All he really had to do was call his name though, and after only one try, Cyril is already stirring and sitting up. 

Cyril rubs at his face and eyes, yawning rather broadly before sitting back. Only for a moment does he look sleepy, and then he’s back to his cocky self. He smirks as he meets Alfred’s eyes, and there is supreme satisfaction in his tone when he speaks.

“Good morning, little hawk,” he says. “You needed a bit of help last night hmm? Still, you did quite well.”

“Yeah yeah,” Alfred says back, his ears turning pink. “I didn’t need  _that_ much help. I just needed an escape vehicle. You’re good for that much at least.”

Cyril’s confident expression doesn’t waver even in the slightest. “If you say so Alfred. You fell into my arms like a fainting bride. It was lovely.”

Alfred’s whole face turns red, and he struggles to get his legs free from the blanket. “Did not! You’re ridiculous. Just point me in the direction of Jule and Matthew so I can get my brother and go home.”

“Don’t be like that. I was just teasing you,” Cyril says, though he still moves to help the other out of the blankets. “Anyhow, before you can leave here, I’ll need to purify you.”

Alfred finally gets his feet on the floor, but he doesn’t stand yet. “What does that mean huh?”

“It means you’ll need to bath in heavenly water,” he says. “I’ll need to oversee it~”

“You’re just making up an excuse to watch me bath!” Alfred says back, quite embarrassed by now.

“Nope, all humans have to do it,” Cyril says. He takes Alfred’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “I’ll only have to oversee it, make sure you’re purified. And hey- I could’ve just done it while you slept. But I didn’t. I was being polite.”

Here he taps the bandages on Alfred’s chest to emphasize how very politely he had taken care of him, and he arches a brow.

Alfred rolls this around in his head and he lets out a long low breath. The god could’ve done whatever he’d wanted when he was unconscious, but Alfred knows that he hadn’t, trusts him enough that he believes his words. “I suppose that’s true. I do…” He looks up into Cyril’s face. He’s about to admit something that is actually quite a big deal for him. “I do trust you. Show me the way.”

Cyril’s breath catches in his throat, and this time it’s his turn to blush. He looks up into Alfred’s face and can’t seem to find words quickly enough. Finally he manages, “Oh well I… good then. I’m actually being helpful, after all.”

Feeling a bit successful at managing to fluster the god, Alfred stands up a bit straighter and grins at him.

“Hurry it up, War God, I’ve got things to do.”

With this, Cyril nods and offers the other his arm. “My pleasure,” he coos softly, perhaps eager to get the upper hand again. “Let me lead you to the baths.”

—

It has been many decades since Cyril has felt so very successful. He’s gotten Alfred to trust him, and he knows just how big a deal it was for the other to call for him in a tight spot. It means Alfred looks to him like a comrade instead of a meddler or an annoyance. Cyril is practically glowing with his success and satisfaction, and it’s making Alfred self-conscious.

As they turn the corner into the bathing area, Cyril figures that Alfred is about to be even more embarrassed. The area is wide and out in the open air. It’s surrounded by a fence for privacy, of course, and there’s water flowing down into a stone pool from a small but steady waterfall.

“Take off your things,” Cyril says. “And meet me at the waterfall.”

Cyril feels no self consciousness or embarrassment as he strips himself down, and he leaves his armor in a basket near the door. He walks over to the water, dipping his hands into it to test the temperature- perfectly warm as expected of the Heavenly Kingdom. When Alfred comes to him, he’s valiantly trying not to look at Cyril. It makes Cyril smile a bit because he knows that the other is much more modest. Indeed, Alfred hasn’t even taken his loincloth off.

“I’ll have to wash you everywhere,” Cyril tells him. “You understand that right?”

“Yes,” Alfred says, not looking up as his cheeks become even redder. “Doesn’t mean you have to  _see everywhere_  too.”

“True,” Cyril says. “I have a good imagination though~”

Then he pulls Alfred into the water, and he rather unashamedly watches how the water flows over Alfred’s skin. He waits for Alfred to relax into the warmth of it before he reaches for him. Ever so gently, he pulls the man’s bandages off. The water of Heaven is healing his injuries, and Alfred reacts to it.

“It feels tingly and itchy,” Alfred says, eyes closing as water streams over his face. “Is that normal?”

“Yes, it means that it’s working.” Once the bandages are gone, Cyril takes soap from a nearby stand and begins to wash him by hand. The first touch of his fingers on Alfred’s bare back makes him jump, but he relaxes soon enough. Cyril works quickly- wanting to linger but knowing that Alfred isn’t yet comfortable with that.

So he hurries and cleans his back and arms and chest. He looks up into Alfred’s face as he washes his hips. His fingers hover over his hips, and he glances down meaningfully before he grabs a washcloth. As much as Cyril would love for things to be different- how dearly he wants to explore and touch the other-, he knows that Alfred could easily feel violated, and that is the last thing in the world that he wants.

“I won’t touch your skin directly,” Cyril murmurs. “I’ll use the cloth to wash between your legs. Is that alright?”

Alfred looks into his eyes, and he actually smiles. “I didn’t know you could be this gentle. It’s weird.” He laughs and, though he’s quite red, he shrugs. “It’s just necessary washing huh? Just hurry it up.”

Then Alfred does something that Cyril doesn’t quite expect- he leans his face against his shoulder. Perhaps he only wishes to hide his face while he’s being so intimately touched, but it makes Cyril feel like his blood is on fire. Gently, careful not to touch his skin directly, Cyril pushes the washcloth beneath Alfred’s loincloth. Even though he’s careful to keep his touch light and as un-intrusive as he can given the position, he still feels Alfred react, tensing in his arms. The man fidgets away from the wash cloth a bit, and he tilts his body away from him. It makes Cyril feel guilty for enjoying this so much since Alfred is so clearly uncomfortable.

For this reason, he makes quick work of cleaning his private, sensitive areas, and then he leans down to wash his legs and feet as well. Cyril is still feeling guilty when he finally finishes, shame in his expression. Sure, he’s a pervert sometimes and a real jerk, but he isn’t the type to be forceful or to pressure a partner. Still, he could’ve offered Alfred the chance to be cleansed by one of the other immortals in his palace, but he’d been too jealous. He had justified it by thinking that Alfred would find it even more mortifying if it was a stranger.

Even though this is a standard part of inducting a human into Heaven, Cyril feels like he’s let himself take advantage of the situation, and he looks up into Alfred’s face to tell him as much- to say sorry and to tell him he’s finished.

All Cyril gets out is, “Finished, sorry about…” before his voice dies on his lips.

Alfred’s expression is intense, aroused, and utterly focused on him, and his hands are hovering over Cyril’s chest. There’s a clear struggle going on in Alfred’s face- he wants to touch him, but other considerations are stopping him. All at once Cyril realizes that all the tensing and fidgeting, it had been for a different reason entirely. Cyril is a god, and he shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a human.

But, here he is, still with shock and frozen in anticipation beneath Alfred’s gaze and aching for the other to give into the urge to touch him. Just when Cyril thinks his little hawk is going to kiss him, Alfred’s whole face turns bright red, and he flees to the bath.

“Finished, right, fuck bath time, yeah,” he mumbles as he goes.

Cyril watches him and takes a long steadying breath. Perhaps his time with Alfred had left the man more endeared to him that he had realized. With a smirk, he follows him to the bath to sink down into the water.

—

Elizaveta has caught Matthew up on what she knows- how Alfred was injured, how he called on Cyril’s help, how the man is resting in Cyril’s manor. She tells him everything that he needs to know. Then she comes to perhaps a more important point.

“Now, the pressure is on you,” she says, grimacing a bit. “You’re going to have to tell him what you plan. Will you go back with him or will you stay here?”

Matthew takes a breath and looks down at his hands. “I.. I mean, I do want to stay here. I want to stay with Jule… But I can’t leave Alfred alone can I? I can’t make him go back without me. Jule… Jule says that he can’t live here in this house with me…”

Elizaveta nods and lets out a long sigh. “I’m pretty sure that’s what Cyril is counting on- that you’ll choose your god over Alfred.”

“What??” Matthew’s head jerks up, and suddenly that soft sweet face looks a bit fierce. “What is he planning?”

This makes Eliza smile. Sure, this young man has been fully seduced by his patron god, but he is still fiercely protective of his brother. She can tell this man would fight the gods himself to make his brother safe.

“I can’t say for sure,” she says, “But from a tactician’s point of view, it seems obvious. He’s hoping that you try and stay in heaven, that you try to talk Jule into letting Alfred stay here. Jule can’t though- Alfred isn’t one of his. Recently Alfred accepted Cyril as his patron so… it seems likely that Cyril will offer him a spot in his house. Then you’d both live in Heaven, you’d both be able to meet- you’d simply be living in different houses. I think he’s going to attempt a ‘hey I have a happy solution’ when Alfred realizes you want to stay.”

Matthew looks a bit deflated about this, and he chews on his lip. “I mean, yeah, I guess that doesn’t sound like a bad deal but… isn’t Cyril a vicious god, a violent god? Would my brother live a safe healthy life with him? One that’s happy even?”

“I think he could,” Elizaveta says, looking over at Roderich with a long suffering expression. “He hasn’t been this enamored with a human in a long time. He can be violent and vicious on the battlefield, but he doesn’t crave violence or war. He simply presides over it and watches over warriors. Gods didn’t invent war, after all. Humans did, and the pantheon changed to accommodate it.” 

The conversation dies, and Matthew thinks over what he will do, what he will say, to the brother he hasn’t seen in so long. He doesn’t have a lot of time to consider it. The door comes open, and Jule stomps in. His expression is one of irritation and distress, and Matthew jumps instantly to his feet. Elizaveta reaches out to soothe Matthew, thinking the sleepy god is just upset that Alfred is here so soon. What he says instead is much worse.

“Anya has been to see me. We have to meet her and Bela at Cyril’s to see Alfred.” Jule curses colorfully in one of the old languages. “She came to tell me to hurry. She’ll be there ahead of us.”

“Oh fuck,” Elizaveta says softly. “The Elder Gods are taking an interest…”

That could either be really good or really bad.

Matthew reacts with worry to Jule’s dark mood, but he doesn’t have a chance to say anything. Jule is already storming out of the room, very distressed, and the other three have little choice but to follow him.

—

Alfred is sitting in one of Cyril’s meeting rooms, and Cyril is giving him a highly inappropriate look. They’d bathed in relative silence, but Alfred could tell that the other is highly aware of how the ‘cleansing’ had made him feel. He’s embarrassed by it and refusing to meet his eyes.

“I thought I was ready to go now. I want to see my brother!” Alfred is scowling and trying to overcome his embarrassment.

“First, I wanted to ask you about something,” Cyril says. “Your little trial on the mountain. I wanted to know how the last one went, in that big flower field I mean.”

“Why? I mean it’s over now. I just had to get that seal thing from the two sorceresses, or whatever.”

“From Anya and Bela, you mean,” Cyril says. “Yes, I know. I wanted to know the content of the trial particularly.”

But Alfred is starting to get distracted. Anya- that’s a name that he knows. That name is somehow meaningful, incredibly so, and he can’t quite remember why. A dull ache starts in his head as he tries to figure out where he’d heard this name. The door to the room comes open, and there’s the woman herself. She’s wearing a much more elegant gown now, but it’s definitely her. Cyril reacts instantly, taking a few steps back and his eyes going wide.

“What’re you—“  

“Speak of the devil,” Anya says with a smile. “And she’ll appear. Cyril, you shouldn’t pry into his trial. They’re quite personal you know.” She comes close to Alfred and gives him a gentle expression. “I’m quite sorry about this… I had to seal your memories just a bit. Otherwise it’d give the game away.”

Then she reaches up and touches Alfred’s forehead. For a second, all he feels is pain- sharp as though being stabbed through the temple- then there is clarity.  _Of course,_  he’s heard the name Anya. She is one of the seven original mother goddesses who created the world, and subsequently she’s one of the most powerful of the pantheon. The old goddesses are made from the ancient chaotic elemental powers from the dawn of time, and this knowledge suddenly being dropped back into his brain makes his head hurt.

Alfred stumbles back two steps, eyes wide, as he stares at this unassuming, normal looking woman. “You… you’re… but you could’ve killed me… I don’t… I don’t understand…”

“I could’ve,” Anya says as she sits down. “But that’s not my job. My job is to test whether you are worthy. And you passed.” She claps for him, expression indulgent and perhaps a bit teasing.

Finally Alfred looks to Cyril, but the War God looks equally confused… And honestly a little worried. Perhaps this kind of visit from the Elder Gods isn’t normal…? Alfred leaves this thought because he has other questions.

“Th-then, what about.. I mean Bela, I don’t know her either,” Alfred says. Then his whole face turns red. “And Tommy? Does that mean he’s a god too or?”

Cyril comes out of his startled quiet at this, jealousy clear on his face. “Tommy?? Who the hell is Tommy?? They tempted you with a man??”

“No,” Anya says, raising a hand toward Cyril to quiet him. “Tommy isn’t real. Just a figment to tempt you. Bela summoned it. Though Bela isn’t a name. More a title, actually. And oh my, here she is now with the others.”

Bela enters the room with Matthew, Elizaveta, and two men that Alfred doesn’t recognize. The one that Alfred presumes to be Jule is pale and obviously unhappy, and Elizaveta looks pretty concerned herself. Still, it’s Matthew that Alfred is interested in the most.

Matthew breaks from Bela’s side to rush to Alfred and hug him tight. Alfred meets him halfway and holds him close.

“Mattie! You’re safe!” he exclaims, rubbing his back. “Gods, I was worried about you.”

“I was more worried about you,” Matthew admits, hugging closer and sounding as though he might cry. “You were the one climbing the mountain full of monsters.”

Alfred just laughs. “Nothing I can’t handle Mattie. You know that.”

Their reunion is cut short though as Jule and Cyril come forward to pull them apart. Both of them are gentle, but they don’t waste much time.

“We’ll have more time for that later,” Cyril whispers to them. “Currently we’ve got more important company.”

“The Elder Gods don’t often pay such personal calls on humans,” Jule adds, urging them to look towards Anya and Bela.

“As I was saying,” Anya continues, as though she hadn’t been interrupted. “Bela is more a title, isn’t it little sister?”

Bela nods, and for a moment, they all see Bela as she really is- a long dark robe that twinkles as if stars are trapped on the fabric, eyes that are so bright they fairly glow, and a mirror hovering in front of her. Alfred and Matthew recognize her at the same time- a goddess created before men by two of the Elder Gods. A goddess who commands magic so fearsome that most people think just saying her name can stir her powers. They’d come up with a series of monikers and euphemisms for her to keep from using her true name.

“Bela is one of many titles,” the goddess says as she takes a step forward. “I believe your people call me ‘The Witch.’” Bela is quite close to Alfred now, and her lips just barely turn up into a smile. “But you, warrior, can call me Natalia.”


	10. The Creation Myth- A Side Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be the universe creation myth, to introduce you darlings to the Elder Gods before we parley with them.

In the beginning, there were but seven gods. They were not like the gods now. It was long before gods had specialties and attributes, long before they watched over aspects of human life. Then there was no life and no stars. There were only these gods who were made of pure wild energy birthed at the start of the universe. Of these seven gods, there was Alice, Amelia, Madeline, Marianne, Sakura, Anya, and Chun-Yan, and they each of them possessed enormous power.

Together, we now call them the Elder Gods.

In the chaos—

~

 _“Daddy, Daddy, wait, are you sayin’ all the gods then were ladies?”_ _Alfred scrunches up his tiny face and looks displeased with the idea. He bounces in his father’s lap, and he disrupts the scroll unraveled over his and Matthew’s lap._

_“Of course,” his father tells him back, glancing over at his wife. “That’s why all women are goddesses right?”_

_Alfred’s mother smiles and nods. “Exactly right.”_

_“Boooo doesn’t this story have heroes? One of them **has** to be a hero at least right?” He leans in to look at the illustrations on the page._

_“No this was before heroes, dear,” his mother says and kisses the top of his head. “Now shhh, and let your father tell the story.”_

_—_

In the chaos, all the elements of the universe drifted through an endless bright. The Elder Gods saw all these raw materials, and they began to build. Though they all possessed equal and incredible power, they each preferred different materials. Amelia, the one we call Sun God now, loved light and warmth and created all the stars in the sky. The void-maker, Anya, saw these stars and this warmth, and she made darkness and ice and comets. Chun-Yan saw dirt, metal, and clay and built planets from them. Desiring to make even bigger planets, Sakura took air and gas, swirling them into bigger, brighter colorful planets.

~

_“You can’t make a planet out of **hair** and gas!!” Alfred shouts, looking more than a little horrified._

_“ **Air** , dummy,” Matthew says, and he pinches his brother’s arm. “She made planets out of air.”_

_Alfred pouts and pinches him back. “You can’t make planets out of air either.”_

_“Well obviously you can cause—.”_

_Their mother hushes them and their father continues._

~

The whole universe was in disarray with the goddesses all creating whatever they wanted, and Alice saw all the chaos. She’s the one who regrouped all of the universe into galaxies and systems. In doing so, she brought an end to the chaos of the universe. Her sister Marianne saw her rigid systems, and she began to help her. She moved the stars and galaxies about to make constellations, to bring beauty and creativity to the systems now that the chaos was tamed. This is why the heavens are so often called the beginning of art, and Marianne is the first artist.

Only one Elder God didn’t create the cosmos. She was Madeline, and she went with her sisters to help them. She supported them each in making their worlds and stars. Of these first gods, she had the most kindness of them all. This is important, because life begins with a single act of kindness.

Madeline, the First Mother, found a planet in her travels through the cosmos with her sisters. It was barely formed, and even Alice had forgotten about it. This planet had no sun and no moon, and it drifted in the darkness all alone. Madeline felt sorry for this small lonely planet, and she came down onto it.

First, she reshaped the mountains and smoothed out the deserts. Then she sought to add color to the barren world, and after a long struggle and a lot of magic, she created the first life apart from the gods- a maple tree. She planted it and cared for it, but seeing it stand lonely only made her sadder.

So she made flowers and grass. Then she made rivers and water to keep them well fed. Only when she thought the little planet looked less desolate and sad did she start to leave. As soon as she did, though, the plants would start to wilt and die. Madeline did everything she could to keep them from dying as she left but nothing worked. So she resolved to stay there and tend to her plants.

Until she began to miss her family still adventuring through the stars. She began to mourn them and cry, and her tears fell into the ocean, turning the water bitter with salt. The sound of her sadness reached the other goddesses, and they all came to her to soothe her.

Madeline, tears still in her eyes, explained to them the problem.

“I see the issue,” Amelia tells her sister. “Your divine light keeps them alive. They just need warmth.”

So Amelia flew into the sky to construct a star. To even come close to the light of divinity, it had to be a large sun, big enough to warm an entire planet, even on the darkest side. 

~

_“And that’s why it’s bigger than the other stars right?” Matthew asks, an attentive student._

_“Yes, exactly,” his father said, giving the small child a kiss._

_Alfred, feeling a little left out, says, “And why she’s called the Sun God right?”_

_Their parents exchange an amused glance, and he laughs. “Right! Very good Alfred.” He kisses Alfred’s hair too and continues with the story._

~

The sun helped to warm them, but the other goddesses still wished to soothe Madeline’s heart. Marianne painted the sky blue and red and purple, colors cycling through the sky to please her sister. She designed clouds and used those as well, to create beauty. The other goddesses chose instead to make plants. Anya made large beautiful sunflowers, and Sakura made cherry trees that bloomed bright pink. Alice and Chun-Yan made plants that created delicious fruits and vegetables that they gifted their gentle little sister with. Marianne improved upon these by creating new foods from the raw ingredients, and she introduced wine and cooking.

The whole of the Earth was now full of life and color and beauty, and it all began with a simple act of kindness.

Humanity, however, started with an argument. With all the goddesses on the planet, admiring the plants and the flowers, Sakura had an idea. She wanted to create life as well, but something cute and gentle that could live peacefully amongst all the plants. After a lot of work, she created the first animal—

~

_“A cute lil bunny rabbit right??” Alfred interjects._

_“Perhaps,” his father says. “But we honestly don’t know.”_

_“But…” he says back. “There’s a picture of a bunny on the scroll…”_

_“Well, we know that she created something gentle that only ate plants. It might’ve been mice or deer or…”_

_But Matthew and Alfred make eye contact, and at the same moment they come to an agreement. “No, it was bunnies. They’re cutest,” they say together._

_Their parents find their twin tendency to speak together like that rather cute, and they give in._

_“Alright then so—“_

~

Sakura creates the first animal, a cute lil bunny, and gives her to Madeline. Madeline loves the tiny creature, and together they begin to create more animals. The other goddesses take notice, and they want to create their own animals too.

“I can make something better than these tiny cute things,” Amelia brags, and so she makes dogs and wolves.

“I can make things smarter than this,” Anya says, and so she creates cats, lions, and tigers.

Marianne says, I can make creatures more beautiful than these,” and she creates birds of every color and size.

The other goddesses enter into the contest, and soon they fight over making the largest animals, the smallest, the loudest. Some of the animals created then were too big to even survive for long, and that’s why we find so bones of huge creatures buried in the earth.

Then Alice decides to create something none of them had- she decides to make a new god. This is much more difficult than making plants and animals, and the first few attempts aren’t very successful. These became ghouls and demons that plague the human world, but finally Anya finds out about Alice’s plan. Anya decides to help her, and together, they make the very first new god. She is made of some of the strongest magic in the universe, and she’s modeled after Anya, the void maker. She’s the one that we now call ‘The Witch,’ because the burst of magic that created her was so powerful that she was born with incredible abilities to rival the Elder Gods. Even saying her name can summon chaotic forces.

Alice and Anya realized that they couldn’t create more gods without proper thought and consultation, so Alice decided to make creatures in the image of gods. While Anya took The Witch to train her, Alice continued her experiments and finally found the way to make humans. When she presented the newest human to the other goddesses, they were all quite impressed. All of them wanted to try their hands at it. Alice, pleased that she had impressed her sisters, showed them all how to create humans. So they went out and populated this new world with humans of every kind, making nations and tribes and families.

The goddesses saw this, and it was perfect.

There was only one problem with this new world. The animals and the humans were all female, and they had no way to reproduce on their own. The goddesses never needed to reproduce, because they are eternal. Their new creations weren’t, so they had to create children and young of every species to keep refreshing them. This was difficult, because it took so much magic and effort to keep all of their new creations living well together.

The goddesses put their mind to this problem, and no one knew quite what to do. This is when Marianne presents the other goddesses with the first man, Francis.*

~

_“It took them that long to come up with boys?” Alfred says, and even Matthew seems to be distressed by the idea._

_His mother laughs. “Until then they hadn’t needed men. They hadn’t even thought of them yet.”_

_Alfred huffs, but Matthew seems to accept this._

~

So the goddesses now had a plan for their creations, and they set about making males of every animal and altering their species so that they could reproduce. Then they turned to Francis to create more men from his image- this is why he is called the Father of Man. Originally, the Elder Gods intended to let Francis lead a human life, but Alice had fallen in love with him. The other goddesses, though they argued and fought, couldn’t see their sister pine for eternity. Together, they decided to grant the first man divinity so he could live among them. So Francis with his new divinity became Alice’s partner, and this is how Alice and Francis become the parents of mankind.

At first, the goddesses lived among their humans, but as time passed, they realized that their powers made it dangerous. If they became partial to one human or family, they might end up hurting another. The humans made war with each other over casual arguments between their goddesses, and in the end, they couldn’t stay with them. And so they created the Heavenly Kingdom and went to live there. Together they created seasons and weather, and they created fates to rule impartially over the lives of humans. They put systems in place where their humans could pray to them and reach them, and they created rules to govern how they interacted with people. All this they did to prevent divine interference being to blame for the disasters and sins of the world.

In this way, the world was created by the seven Elder Gods, and this is why we have seven days of every week, as a day for each of them.

~

_“Yeah okay but where did the other gods come from???” Alfred asks, interested despite himself._

_“They have each different origins,” his father tells him back. “But they are a different story. This one is just about how Earth was made.”_

_Matthew perks up. “Can you tell us stories about the other gods then?”_

_“Not tonight,” his mother says. “It’s time to sleep.” She stands and lifts her children up into her arms._

_“I wanna hear a hero story instead anyways,” Alfred says back, pouting rather ferociously now. “Gods aren’t interesting, I wanna hear about heroes!!”_

_Their father rolls his eyes as Alfred begins to cry. Alfred always was the crybaby out of their two children, and so his father goes into the boys’ room as well._

_“Alright, but just one story,” he tells the boys. “A short one about some heroic daring deed.”_

_Alfred stops crying to beam and cheer, and Matthew just snuggles in against his brother to hear the next story that their father had for them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As Marianne created Francis, I imagine she created heterosexual sex, but the goddesses and their humans probably had some nice ideas of intimacy already, just not the kind that produced children. So you can imagine here Alice, in all her stately divinity, being VERY UPSET that Marianne picked sex as the means of making children. You can also picture Marianne being SUPER SMUG when Alice is the one that falls in love and partners with Francis.
> 
> Other notes: I’m a little sad that I couldn’t write from a more personal perspective because the universe beginning because the lady gods were fighting like Amelia ‘WeLL LOOK I MADE A SUN AND WARMTH AND FIRE” and Anya “I MADE A BLACK HOLE AND ICE AND COMETS SO THERE.” Chun-Yan making planets and Sakura being like I CAN MAKE BIGGER PRETTIER ONES. I wanted to give you the sense that they were trying to one up each other even in the beginning before all the arguing over making animals. But actually writing it from that perspective takes a lot more time, and so I did the storybook version with Alfred and Matthew. I imagine that whole dinosaur period was Anya, Amelia, Alice, and Marianne having a pissing contest that got really out of hand and they had to throw a comet at the problem to take care of it maybe.
> 
> As for the younger gods, I imagine that they were created out of necessity- the humans invent war, and the war god wakes up in heaven. Art becomes important and Jule is found in a cradle in Alice’s home. I imagine gods with aspects probably arose directly from what humankind needed/valued, because you can’t honestly tell me that creatures that were made from ancient cosmic magic wouldn’t be able- collectively- to create things they needed. And a god to look over their particular interests and concerns. Other gods may have been created via the Elder Gods to regulate elemental forces and so forth. So their little kingdom becomes a city teeming with people over the next few centuries, welcoming in new gods and new immortals. A system is made to govern death and souls, because once again, humans are made from cosmic energy so their souls probably don’t need to be wandering around.
> 
> But those are all different stories, so they don’t get time here. I just wanted to expand on Anya and Madeline and Bela, and give you the origin story to help your understanding. Some of the Elder Gods- Marianne, Alice, Amelia, Anya- probably settled into certain roles- love, motherhood, sun, winter respectively in the collective human consciousness, but in general they’re the super heroes of the gods and they can do many things. They just have preferences. And even then different aspects of love have goddesses too (whereas Marianne, the inventor of hetero lovin’ takes erotic love as her preferred aspect with Mei and Lili taking other aspects.) So instead of having one god for each topic – just like Cyril and Hungary are both gods in the war department- there’s a lot a lot of gods that live in and around similar houses and each have varying power levels and recognition/worship from humans.
> 
> Woo! The end of the notes!


	11. Striking a Bargain

Cyril is upset- all of his well laid plans could be undone because of this. He’s not even sure why Anya and Bela are here. Alfred passed the trial, did everything he was supposed to, and yet there they stand in his sitting room. The look on Jule’s face implies that he knows a bit better what’s going on, and he doesn’t even look vaguely pleased about it.

“Yeah, yes, the Bela, the Witch, Natalia, whatever, it doesn’t matter. What exactly do you guys want?”

Bela shoots Cyril a sharp dirty look and doesn’t respond to him. Instead she looks back up into Alfred’s eyes. “I’ll offer you some advice,” she says in a soft even voice. Then she leans up to whisper into Alfred’s ear.

Normally such a thing would be easy enough for Cyril to listen in on but now is different. Bela has a strong ability to block out most eavesdropping, but then, she had invented all those looking glasses that Cyril uses to watch the world. Perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew every magic trick to counter divine spying.

Whatever she says confuses Alfred, though he does nod. “Uhhh thanks Natalia,” he says as Bela moves back across the room to sit next to her sister.

“I still don’t know why you’re here!” Cyril says, coming to stand in front of Anya.

The goddess just looks up at him with that infuriating innocent expression, and she smiles at him. “We’re here to listen to this little human’s purposes for coming. Should be interesting, yes~? Everyone should sit down and let the human brothers talk, please?”

Alfred watches as the gathered gods listen to her, and he turns back toward Matthew. “Well, my purpose is pretty obvious! I came to take Matthew home. He only got mixed up in all this because of raiders- none of it is his fault.” Alfred beams at his brother, very glad to see him again.

“Alfred…” Matthew says, looking a bit stricken as he tries to phrase what he needs to say delicately. “I do want to reunite our family but… but I also… I want to stay here.”

—

Alfred’s stomach drops at his brother’s words, and he stares at him uncomprehendingly.

“But Mattie…” he says softly. “Mattie, I thought that… I mean, I worked so hard to get here, and you’re all I got left. I can’t… I can’t go back down there without you.” Alfred knows that rejection and dread must be obvious on his face, because Matthew suddenly looks guilty. Matthew comes forward to pull him into his arms, and Alfred hugs him back- fiercely- while he tries to fight off the feeling of rejection. “Please don’t leave me alone Mattie, I can’t do it alone.”

“I won’t, Alfred. I don’t intend too,” Matthew says back, and he rubs his back. “I was just thinking that you… you could come and live here instead. We’d still be together- we’d just have a different house is all.”

Although this isn’t something Alfred had considered so far, it’s better than the idea of going back down to Earth without Matthew or forcing his brother out of an indefinite immortality. He pulls back and looks into his face. “You mean… I can stay here? I’m not sure I’d fit in at Jule’s place.” Alfred glances over at Jule and gives him an almost apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s alright,” Jule says in a quiet, tired voice. “I couldn’t bring you into my home indefinitely. I’d have to be—.”

“Your patron,” Cyril says, cutting in. “He’d have to be your patron. Gods can steal followers of other deities if certain ceremonies are performed. But even then, they can only keep them so long before they have to return them unless the individual human converts loyalty or is willing commit to the new god. There’s a reason people who are taken by gods sometimes wander back home after a while.”

Alfred makes a face at this, and he realizes suddenly why Cyril had wanted to ‘officially’ become his patron. The realization that the war god had planned for this eventuality makes Alfred rather suddenly angry, and his expression is accusatory. “So all the friendly gestures, the gifts, all that stuff, was you buttering me up to try to get me to stay here in your house?? They were, what, bribes?” Alfred squares off toward Cyril, feeling used and angry. “All the help and camaraderie was all just part of the plan?”

The others seem surprised at him- to be so openly challenging a god. Cyril reacts to Alfred’s posture and expression quickly too, and he leaps to his feet. Matthew grabs Alfred’s arm to pull him back as the god approaches. Cyril is radiating godly power, and the accusation has clearly upset him. Alfred doesn’t care-- despite how upset Matthew seems about it. He is definitely calling the god out.

“No, they were shows of faith. Do you think ‘happily ever afters’ grow on trees, little hawk?” Cyril is close to Alfred now, those strange red eyes sharp and angry. “I knew it might come to this, and when it did, I could offer a solution that could suit everyone. I was being  _kind_.”

Matthew is tugging at his arm still, but Alfred shakes him off. He wouldn’t be backing down from this

“Being kind?” Alfred says. “So tell me: are you kind to the followers you steal? I heard you let some of them suffocate and you murder others. You say some of them make it home eventually and some convert... But what would’ve happened to my brother if Jule hadn’t interfered??”

Rage- and strangely, guilt- comes into Cyril’s expression and he shoves Alfred back against the wall. He comes to stand close, challenging Alfred to retaliate.

But for now Alfred doesn’t. He just says in a quiet, hard voice, “Answer the question.”

Behind Cyril, he sees Elizaveta rise and restrain Matthew who is clearly about to interfere. Alfred only spares this a fleeting thought before his entire attention is focused fully on Cyril and his answer.

“Since you are so curious,” Cyril says. “Brutality and violence are aspects of who I am. But so is justice. Order and command and camaraderie and heroism are still others. I’m not just some bloodthirsty fiend. Some of those tied to my alter aren’t so innocent. Some of them have done things that make them too tainted to enter Heaven. Not all those dedicated to temples are clean, and I do mete out justice to them.”

“That’s not what I—.”

“And, for the record, some of them rituals to ‘get my attention,’ go astray and I don’t know I have a sacrifice waiting until the poor thing suffocates.”

The way he phrases it- ‘some of them’- implies to Alfred that he does sometimes ignore unworthy sacrifices and lets them die. This isn’t what Alfred’s interested in at the moment though.

“I didn’t ask that!” he says back. “I asked what would’ve happened to my brother.”

Cyril rolls his eyes, and he grabs Alfred’s chin, holding his face still and locking eyes with him. “You want me to say I might have let him die or I might have killed him, don’t you? But I was actually incredibly disappointed when I lost him. He is a talented young man, and he’s the whole reason I answered you so quickly.”

“And what about now?” Alfred says, anger starting to fade bit by bit... though he’s still obstinate. “You’re just gonna keep chasing my brother now?”

“No, of course not,” Cyril says, brows knitting in confusion.  “Why would I?”

Alfred scoffs. “Why wouldn’t you?”

“ _Because of you obviously_ ,” Cyril says as though Alfred must be daft not to realize. “You are infinitely more useful to me. You actually share some of my aspects. You could be a powerful force if properly trained, and I am a god- I understand that sometimes trades have to happen. I would give up my claim on Matthew if I could claim you instead.”

Despite his obvious anger, there is passion in Cyril’s voice as well, and for a moment, Alfred has utterly forgotten there are other people in the room. Perhaps it’s just that the word is loaded with connotations anyways, but Alfred thinks there’s something in the way he says ‘claim’ that sounds like he’s talking about something else entirely. For the briefest second, Alfred thinks Cyril might kiss him, and he’s holding his breath, hoping that he will.

But Cyril seems to remember that they’re not alone. He steps away from Alfred and lets out a long low sigh as he tries to calm himself down. This is what pulls Alfred back into the present. It almost startles him at first to find the rest of the room looking at him. Even now, Elizaveta is still holding onto Matthew. Though there’s concern in his face as well, Matthew looks completely prepared to attack Cyril for pushing Alfred around.

Thank goodness Elizaveta hadn’t let him.

Then there’s Jule, sitting off to the side and looking just as forlorn as ever. His black haired servant is at his side, and the servant is watching Alfred as though he’s some sort of rather interesting play. Anya and Bela look on with very different expressions- the former smiling and the latter frowning- but Alfred can’t really tell what they’re thinking or feeling.

Alfred looks back to Matthew finally, and he studies his face. It’s clear how well he’s been treated from his appearance alone, but Alfred realizes that he would come back to Earth with him if Alfred were adamant. Then he turns his eyes to Cyril. The god is standing rigid, turned slightly away, but his frustration is almost palpable. As he runs through the things the god had said and what he had intended, Alfred realizes that Cyril really has arranged a perfect way to resolve the situation.

“I’ll stay,” Alfred announces then. “I’ll join Cyril’s house.” He can see the god brighten, the thrill of his success clearly written on his face. “But! I have a condition!”

Cyril looks calculating, but he still looks like he’s ready to gloat. Behind him, Anya’s smile widens, and Jule looks vaguely sick.

“Name it,” Cyril says with a smirk. “And I’ll see what I can do.”

“I want to be treated as equal,” he glances back at Elizaveta. “Like you treat her. I don’t want to be a servant or anything like that.”

This is clearly not what Cyril is expecting, and he flounders somewhat, laughing a bit incredulously. “Wait, what? But you’re human. Eliza, she’s immortal, so her rank is naturally higher. You won’t be a foot soldier or anything, but equal to a god…” He laughs again. “You’re more presumptuous than I thought. There’s no way—.”

But here Anya stands and cuts in. “There is one way, actually.”

Alfred looks back at her and blinks. “What way?”

“It’s dangerous,” she responds, eyes bright with… some feeling Alfred can’t quite place. “But it’s just another test. It shoudn’t be too hard for you.”

Cyril finally realizes what she’s implying, and his eyes go wide. “No! No! Absolutely not. I forbid that. That’s not for you to decide!”

“You’re right,” Anya says. “It’s not.~ It’s for Alfred to decide.”

All eyes are on Alfred now- except Jule's. The sleepy god's gaze drops to stare forlornly at the floor.

“Well… what kind of trial is it?” he asks, uncertainty in his voice. “I need to know that before I choose…”

“She wants you to take a trial to earn a demigod or semi-immortal status,” Cyril says, the tone of his voice and his posture all trying to communicate to Alfred that this is a bad idea. “It’s not something to undertake lightly. If you fail, you’ll end up so deep in the underworld that it’ll be centuries before you can be reborn- if your soul isn’t destroyed in the undertaking. At best you might take over a minor aspect of my house… but on the other hand, even if you’re successful, you might only gain a few centuries of life. It’s too risky. The payout isn’t guaranteed, and it’s hardly worth the risk.”

“But if I stay here,” Alfred says slowly, processing the information. “Don’t I gain a few centuries of life anyways?”

“Exactly!” Cyril says. “You’re betting your immortal soul, and you may not even come out the other end better off.”

“I think I agree with him then,” Matthew says, coming up to Alfred’s side. “It doesn’t sound like a good idea to me. It’s unnecessary and dangerous.”

Anya steps forward and looks into Alfred’s eyes. “But you’d have the chance to live here in Heaven. As a respected equal. Not a pet or a cute human servant. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Yes,” Alfred answers instantly. He wonders if he’s being hypnotized or if she’s just looking down into his deepest desires to tempt him with them. “That’s exactly what I want. I’ll do it.”

The upset in the room is almost instant, but no voice is as loud as Matthew’s.

—

Cyril stands frozen as he watches and listens as both Elizaveta and Matthew try and convince Alfred that he’s being fool-hardy. He wishes that he could move or say something or forbid this, but he’s well aware that once Alfred has made his mind up that he’d do it. He’d have no choice but to accept Alfred’s petition. Humans who take the trials require their patron’s sanctioning the mission, and Cyril could refuse to offer his sponsorship.

But this is the probably his last and only chance to get Alfred into his house completely.

There’s a voice in his head that tells him that he should put his foot down, absolutely refuse to sponsor him, and send him back down to Earth. Cyril can’t though- it’s his great weakness. Despite his concern for Alfred, Cyril is still chasing down his end goal, and he’d just have to trust his human to make it to the goal line unscathed.

While the others argue, Cyril looks to his brother Jule-- he hasn’t yet pulled his eyes off of the ground. To him, this outcome doesn’t seem so surprising.

“You knew,” Cyril says softly. “You knew this was going to happen.”

With a sigh, Jule finally looks up at him, and Cyril almost expects to see gloating or the gleam of success. After all, Cyril would have to give up claim to Matthew whether Alfred won or lost his little trial. Once he makes a deal, he’d keep it even if the other died, and so he expects Jule to be shining with success…

But he isn’t. He actually looks rather sick with worry.

“Anya came to me early this morning,” Jule says just as softly back. “She told me this would happen.”

“Oh you must feel quite successful now. There’s no telling if I’ll get my human back, but you get to keep yours,” Cyril tries to keep the venom out of his voice and doesn’t quite manage.

But the tone doesn’t rouse Jule’s anger like it usually would. The god just looks defeated. “That’s not how I feel at all,” Jule says back, and he turns his eyes expectantly towards the two humans locked in argument. “Because she told me what would happen next.”

“What would happen next…?” Cyril echoes as he looks over at the bickering again too.

For a moment it’s just the same old tired circuitous argument they had from the beginning- Matthew trying to point out all the flaws in Alfred’s plan and Alfred steadfastly keeping to his decision.

But then it happens.

“Fine you idiot,” Matthew shouts. “If you’re determined to do this, then I’m going to go with you.”

Anya seizes the moment. “That would mean you’d have to take the test as well, you know.”

“I don’t care! I’m not letting my idiot brother do this by himself. I’m going too, and none of you can stop me.”

If Anya is offended or surprised by Matthew’s impudence, she doesn’t show it. “Alright then. You can go as well.”

This starts a whole new bout of brotherly fighting as Alfred tries to prevent Matthew from coming, but Cyril isn’t paying attention to it. He’s looking back at his brother, and he finally understands just why Jule has been looking so defeated and upset since he arrived.

“You can stop him, you know. Tell him he can’t go.”

“I could’ve,” Jule says back. “If Anya hadn’t specifically ordered me to let him go.”

For as much as they argue and fight, Cyril does care about his brother. The sudden acceptance that they’re essentially in the same boat at the moment has him sitting down next to him as the human brothers argue in the background.

“From the sounds of it,” Cyril says. “Matthew is nearly as stubborn as Alfred.”

“Exactly. Even if I defy Anya and forbid it, Matthew would be so angry with me…” Jule pushes his hair back behind his ear and heaves a heavy sigh. “It would destroy the trust and closeness we’ve built.”

“But he’d be safe,” Cyril says. “I mean, in my case, even if I tell Alfred no, I have no guarantee he’d be safe. He’s a warrior after all.”

“Yes, but Matthew wouldn’t be happy though,” Jule replies. “He’d be unhappy and angry. And if Alfred fails, he’d hate me for not letting him go. He’d always wonder if he could’ve done something to help if he’d been there.”

Cyril mulls this over, and he could easily see it happening that way. He figures that this is above the two of them. With Anya and Bela here clearly intending to send the humans into such a dangerous undertaking, there’s little chance of Cyril or Jule preventing this.

“Do you figure it’s just these two?” Cyril asks. “Or did they get the other Elder Gods involved?”

“I don’t know,” Jule says. “It makes sense, I guess, for them to want Alfred. He impressed Bela to the point that she  _gave him permission to use her name_ , so I imagine they’ve talked to the others.”

“Yeah, what’s that about? It’s unusual for her…” Cyril frowns and looks over at Bela.

She is very clearly ignoring the entire proceedings, and she’s stuck in her own thoughts as always… well, she probably knows how it’ll all turn out anyways.

“It seems that Alfred found a way to defeat Anya’s sorceress form without killing her- something very few heroes on the mount ever manage,” Jule says. Then he starts to glare over at the Elder Gods. “But that raises the question- do they just want Matthew along because his presence will ensure Alfred’s success? Is Matthew actually cut out for whatever they have in store? Or is he only there as a sacrifice to Alfred’s journey?”

“You think they’d do that?” Cyril asks, looking back at the scene. “That they’d let that kid’s soul take the brunt of things so that they can ‘catch’ a different human that they like? I mean I know we can do some messed up shit, but it could destroy his soul…”

Jule sighs, and it takes them several moments to respond. “Honestly I’m not sure. They’ve been around for millennia. I’m not experienced enough to understand the perspective they have. But for them, one kid in the span of all that time might not seem like a big deal.”

“Yeah, yeah you’re right,” Cyril says back.

Finally Bela cuts in. Her voice is still the same quiet monotone, but it’s magically amplified so that it echoes around the room. “It’s time now. You are both going to take the test, and it begins now. Come forward.”

Now that she’s effectively ended the fighting, she’s quiet again and thoughtful. She stands still as the humans run through their thoughts one more time. Alfred and Matthew look at each other, and they both know that the time for arguing is done. Alfred takes Matthew’s hand with a determined smile, and they come forward.

“Yeah, we’re ready. Send us on to the tests.”

Bela almost smiles, and her mirror appears in her hands. She looks toward Cyril and Jule now, and all eyes follow her gaze.

“Does Alfred have the sponsorship of his patron for the task?”

Cyril stands and clears his throat. He gives Alfred a firm nod and says with as much confidence and strength in his voice as he can, “Of course he does. Alfred can make quick work of this.”

Even in this moment, Cyril knows that this sort of encouragement is something that Alfred thrives on, and this is his last chance to give it to him. Alfred does straighten up and stand a bit prouder at the praise, and it makes Cyril smile despite his unease.

“And does Matthew?” Bela continues.

“He does,” Jule says from his seat. “So long as he vows to do his best to come back to me.”

“Of course I will,” Matthew replies, cheeks turning pink. “I’ll do my best to return to you.”

Before Jule can say more, Bela says, “It is done. Touch the mirror.”

Matthew and Alfred nod at once, and they reach forward to press their fingers to the glass. For a second their shapes flicker and blink.

Then they’re gone.

“So,” Cyril says softly as he falls back onto a chair. “They really didn’t tell you how this test is going to turn out? You aren’t holding out on me?”

“Of course not,” Jule says. “Though they did tell me where the test will take place.”

“Oh did they?” Cyril replies in a breezy conversational tone, as if they weren’t both filled with dread for their respective humans. “Where is it at? Somewhere nice I hope.”

“Oh quite nice,” he says back, answering Cyril’s tone with a nonchalant one of his own. “The Underworld, if you can believe it.”

Cyril frowns now, but his voice is still light when he answers. “Of course. It’s quite nice this time of year.”

Jule doesn’t respond, too tired perhaps or too worried, but somewhere to Cyril’s left Elizaveta curses colorfully. Cyril looks over to Anya and Bela, and he begins to say something. But they too flicker and are gone. They wouldn’t be telling him anything about what is happening or what was planned.

So Cyril sighs and sits back, trying to calm himself down, because he has no idea how long this wait will be. 


	12. The Death God's Palace

Matthew is disoriented at the sudden lack of light after he touches the mirror. He feels as though the ground is shifting underneath him and the world around him is spinning.  When things settle, the first thing that Matthew sees is the low stone ceiling, and he looks around in surprise at their new surroundings. They’re in a narrow stone tunnel, and it seems to go on for quite a ways.

It also slants downward which Matthew figures isn’t a great sign.

“Whoa it’s dark. They need more torches,” is Alfred’s only input as he moves to pry one of the torches from the wall.

The flame is a bright blue, and Matthew isn’t so sure it’s a good idea to take it… but the thought of being down in a place like this without some light doesn’t sit well with him. He waits for Alfred to get it free, and then he fidgets awkwardly next to him as his brother prepares himself for the possibility of battle. 

“Here,” Alfred says, pulling out leather armor and a pair of worn pants. “Put these on. It’s my spare, but it’s definitely better than staying in those white alter boy clothes.”

Matthew nods and pulls the armor on as Alfred preps himself in a similar manner. When they’re both ready to continue down the tunnel, Matthew turns to walk down the incline. Alfred grabs his arm before he gets far.

“Nuh-uh, bro,” Alfred says. “So long as I’m the one wearing the sword, I’m the one going first.”

“Fine,” Matthew says, arching a brow. “I guess I’m in charge if we get attacked from behind then?”

“We’ll deal with that when it happens,” he replies with a grin. Then he turns and starts down the sloped cavern.

Matthew doesn’t argue with him. He knows that fighting and protecting others is more Alfred’s specialty. Although he has a dagger, Matthew supposes that perhaps it is the best idea to let him lead the way. The thought of Alfred in his role as warrior does give Matthew a bit of pause though as he thinks over all the things that must have happened while they were separated.

“I never…” Matthew says softly, pausing in the tunnel.

For a second, he simply watches his brother’s back as he walks. Alfred only takes a few more steps before he realizes that Matthew isn’t following. “Mattie… what’s wrong?”

“I never thanked you,” Matthew says softly. “For coming to get me. I know... really I know I must seem ungrateful wanting to stay there, but I was so relieved to see you- I really am happy to have you back.”

Alfred softens and smiles. “I was pretty messed up at first, but Elizaveta had warned me you might want to stay. I had thought it over, and I understand. You’ve been so dedicated to art and your sleepy god for so long that it makes sense.”

“You’re more understanding than I thought you’d be…” Matthew says slowly.

“Yeah well, I started to realize that I might be snatching you up from not just your dream job but also a comfortable long life. It helped me come to terms with it.” Alfred shrugs, but Matthew can see a measure of discomfort in his expression.

“I never would’ve been able to stay there without you though,” he says after a moment. “You know that right? To be really happy I’d need you around being a loud silly jerk.”

Alfred does smile at this. “Of course you would. I’m awesome. What would I do without you to be fussy and scold me all the time huh?”

“Guess we both need each other huh?”

“Guess so,” Alfred says back. “I love you, Mattie.”

“I love you too, Al.”

For a few seconds, they just stand and smile at each other, and the breach between them has been healed a bit. Matthew thinks this is good because they don’t need any lingering bad feelings when they start whatever this trial happens to be. Matthew pushes a little at Alfred’s arm, and he grins at him. “Well then. Now that the touchy-feely stuff is out of the way, let’s get going,” he says. “And tell me just how in the world you got to Heaven.”

The talking happens bit by bit at first, because the cavern makes Alfred nervous. After they’ve gone a way down and they haven’t been attacked, though, Alfred becomes more talkative. Honestly, Alfred is pretty good at telling stories. He’s emotive and dramatic, excited to share. Matthew loves to hear him ramble on so long as said rambling happens at the appropriate time. Despite where they are, they have the time to talk.

Only when the ground starts leveling out does Alfred fall quiet. They’ve been going down for quite a while, but now they’re finally coming to the mouth of the narrow tunnel. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, and Alfred motions for him to stop while he approaches. Alfred reaches the edge, and for a second, Matthew thinks it’s safe.

Then Alfred turns back toward him, face pale as a sheet, and he comes back to stand at Matthew’s side.

“This is going to be a problem,” Alfred says, eyes wide.

For him to look so startled, Matthew wonders just how they’re going to take care of whatever sort of monster or warrior is just outside of the cave. “What is it then?? We should make a plan!” Matthew says back.

“I don’t think a plan will help,” he says back, voice wavering softly. “There’s uh… It’s… well there’s a lot of ghosts out there.”

“Ghosts??” Matthew says, even more confused.

“Oh-so-very-many ghosts.”

—

If there is one thing in the entire universe that Alfred hates, it’s ghosts. He’s run into a few here and there. It’s inevitable as someone who goes to so many battlefields and places of death. Usually, they’re just annoying- fleeting images, strange sounds, a bit of movement in the corner of your vision. Other times they’re more aggressive- moving objects, throwing things, manifesting just long enough to lunge at you before fading into nothing.

In the worst times, they could try and possess you. Alfred had only seen this once, but it’d left the clear impression in his head that ghosts are bad news.

From the way Matthew is looking at him- confusion and vague disbelief- Alfred can tell that he’s never dealt with ghosts.

“Okay, don’t look at me that way,” Alfred says. “I can’t kill a ghost. My blade isn’t going to do anything, and if they want to mess with us, they’ll mess with us.”

Matthew deadpans back at him. “What exactly can they do to us then?”

“Well… usually they can’t do much at all,” Alfred admits. “A bit of ridiculous doom and gloom stuff, but sometimes they can throw things and possess you and stuff?” 

“Huh, we should definitely avoid possession,” he agrees. “But that’s only for really strong spirits right? Do you think any of them are?”

“I’m not sure… But I’m starting to get the feeling we’re in the Underworld…” Alfred shudders as he says this. 

“We were walking down a pretty long ways,” Matthew says. “It’d make sense. But if we’re in the Underworld, it means they might not be the same as on Earth.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was worried about.” Alfred stands and fidgets uncertainly, trying to figure out what he should do. As much as he hates ghosts, he knows that they can’t stay here forever. “I guess we just go out and hope for the best. There’s nothing we can do but push forward.”

“Alright,” Matthew says with a smile. “I can handle that much.”

“Just, uh, can you lead the way this time?” Alfred has no false pride on the subject of ghosts, and he admits rather openly that they scare him.

Matthew sighs and asks rather dryly, “How about we go side by side?”

“Okay that sounds good.”

So they emerge side by side, walking out into a large field full of ghosts. Alfred hadn’t been exaggerating- they really are everywhere. The field slopes downwards and on the lower side, there’s countless rows of houses and living spaces. The cavern is tall, open, and surprisingly bright. Far down on the other side of the field is a wide waterfall, and Matthew gasps softly. There are spirits that are passing through beneath the flow of the water and disappearing.

“They’re being reincarnated. We’re in the Field of Rebirth,” he says, voice full of awe. “So we aren’t too deep yet, maybe? If that’s the reincarnation gate…?”

“Oh right, I remember that. You pass through and the water wipes your memories so you can start again. Well maybe that’s why these ghosts aren’t paying attention. They’re about to be sent back up.”

Indeed, the ghosts are mostly ignoring them, wandering about the field aimlessly but without real malice or distress. These souls must be peaceful people who lead good lives, and with reincarnation so close at hand, they probably feel no ill will towards humans. Alfred hopes it stays that way.

“Well suppose we try to find Kiku’s palace? Maybe he knows what we’re supposed to do," Matthew muses aloud.

“Yeah,” Alfred agrees. “I guess that’s our best bet. I doubt the God of Death gets too many visitors. Maybe he’ll be happy for company??”

“Let’s hope…”

So they press on. They follow a large winding stone street down through the houses. Ghosts wander around them, some of them speaking together in quiet voices. Some of them speak languages he recognizes, but some of them don’t. They are more distinct and more solid than ghosts Alfred had seen on Earth, and that makes them a tad less frightening.

So far, the Underworld hasn’t been too terrible. Unfortunately, as the houses start to thin out, the cavern gets darker. The grass that had been growing in the Field of Rebirth dwindles until the floor is just dusty stone. They press on, and though a several spirits pass them on the way toward the fields, there’s fewer ghosts here.

As they get lower, they can see a wide dark river. There’s a boat docked on the side closest to them as a few ghosts drift down to dry land. There’s a man at the helm urging the ghosts to move faster.

“We’ll need to be ferried across,” Matthew says. “Let’s hurry and catch this one.”

Matthew and Alfred race down the rest of the way towards the dock, breathing heavily as they come up alongside the boat.

“Sir,” Alfred says between pants for breath. “Sir can you ferry us across to the other side?”

The man turns, but there’s no face beneath the hood- just a deep darkness. “Hardly ever ferry anyone from this side,” he answers in a low voice. “No one ever wants to go over to that other side.”

Alfred takes two steps back, properly frightened of this specter. It’s Matthew that has to take the lead.

“Can you bring us? Please? We really must get to the Death God’s palace.”

“Ahhh, that’s hard. Perhaps if I had a bit of payment…?” the man says. His voice sounds strange- as though it just appeared into the air without passing through a throat or mouth.

Matthew has just come from Heaven, and he’s had no need of money there. Alfred pulls out a pouch of coins, and he tosses it to Matthew. He doesn’t want to get closer to the ghoul than he had to. After Matthew has paid the ferryman, they stumble aboard.

Alfred starts to panic on the way across though. The whole other bank is full of ghosts of all shapes and sizes. As they get close, the whispering starts- hundreds of tiny voices all chanting out their regrets, their hopes, their needs. It’s a chorus of murmurings full of longing, and it makes Alfred’s heart ache a bit.

At the same time, it also terrifies him.

“Mattie… Mattie you hear that too right?”

“It’s a cacophony, isn’t it?? Those shades always murmuring and begging and whispering about their lives,” the ferryman says. “Least they’re not as bad by the time they get here. Deeper you go the louder they get.”

Alfred feels like he’s been doused with ice water. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“Don’t be so worried,” Matthew says as he pats his leg. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”

“Gods, I hope so.”

By the time they’re close to shore, the whispering is a dull buzz that Alfred has tuned out as effectively as he can. As he moves to get off the boat, he takes his brother’s hand to tug him up and out. And though he really should let go, he doesn’t. He’s going to need a bit of a confidence boost to get through the ghosts that are staring both of them down.

“These ghosts don’t look so friendly,” Alfred whispered. “Stay close.”

Then he squeezes Matthew’s hand as though he simply wants to comfort him. Matthew smiles, but he doesn’t call Alfred out on it. So they enter the crowd of ghosts hand in hand. They’re a little more solid than Alfred expects. Still barely there, but he can feel them brushing against him as he goes by. They sometimes try to curl their fingers around Alfred’s shoulder or wrist. For the briefest moment he can feel them, and that frightens him. He grips at his brother’s hand and lets him lead him through the ghosts.

—

Matthew finds Alfred’s fear of ghosts a little bit funny. Sure, Alfred had told him before how scary he finds ghosts, but he also talked about how bad a variety of monsters and ghouls were. He didn’t realize that ghosts were actually that big of a fear since Alfred boldly struck down most things that scared him. Though, that’s exactly the problem, isn't it? Alfred can’t strike them down, and that makes him nervous. Although he doesn’t get it, Matthew supposes he should accept that. So he just tries to comfort his usually courageous brother as they make their way through the ghosts crowding the shore of the river. At first, Matthew is quite successful.

Then the wailing starts. The deeper they go, the more tormented and upset the ghosts are. They cry and moan and beg to be allowed to go faster through the tunnels. Alfred is trembling by then. The ghosts here are angry and violent, and sometimes they manage to become real enough to push at them or tug at their clothes. Usually the touch is brief, but it’s not very pleasant despite the brevity.

With the way Alfred is reacting, Matthew thinks it’s a good thing he’d demanded to come because he’s not sure that Alfred could have done this on his own. If this was going to be a test where only fighting and strength were important, Matthew might not have been that helpful. Sure, he knows how to use a sword, and he could theoretically defend himself. There’s a good chance that he’d just be a liability in battle if he got involved, because Alfred would certainly have to back him up.

Just when Matthew thinks that Alfred is going to panic and bolt, the tunnel opens up into a wide area. There’s another dusty open area filled with ghosts, and further back there’s a dull red fiery glow. Perhaps Matthew imagines it, but he thinks he hears distant screams. He has a strong suspicion that’s where punishment for the worst souls takes place.

“Oh fuck Mattie please say that’s the castle we’re looking for. This place is giving me the creeps.”

Matthew has to tear his eyes away from the damned souls in the distance to look where Alfred is gesturing. Indeed, there’s a huge gated palace off to left of them. It’s not a tall castle like he’d expected. Instead it’s a wide long building that looks well taken care off. It’s a wooden palace as well which clashes with the stone surroundings somewhat, but Matthew supposes that if you have to live underground, you might as well live in a palace that is made of something other than stone. Ghosts are trying to push their way through the solid wooden gates, but they make no progress.

“But y’know,” Matthew says. “To get in we’re really going to have to get past those ghosts at the gates.”

“I can handle a few more,” he replies. “If it gets me away from them.”

So they trudge through the field while wailing sad ghosts grab at them. Alfred shivers and stays close, but Matthew is mostly just annoyed. The scare has worn off, and mostly he just wants the ghosts to stop tugging his hair.

By the time they get to the gates, Matthew is ready to pound the doors down to get away from the crowd. While he certainly feels sorry for the pitiful things, it’s hard for him to think kindly of them when they’re shoving him and yanking his hair and clothes. He goes to knock on the doors, but they swing open once the two of them are close. In front of them is a wide front garden of sorts- though the plants are arranged about sparingly, there’s a lot of carefully arranged pebbles and stone lanterns.

“Creepy,” Alfred says. But then he grins and points- the ghosts are still stuck, pushing at an unseen wall trying to get in. “But they can’t seem to go in. Let’s see if we’re allowed?”

Before Matthew can ask if it’s a good idea or a trap, Alfred is already striding forward. He makes it through just fine, and then he looks exhilarated.

“Pretty sure I can face anything now, if I got through that.” Alfred grabs Matthew’s hand and tugs him forward into the gates. “It’s safe in here so far. Let’s go see the Death God and ask him about our test!”

Though he doesn’t feel as certain as Alfred, Matthew can’t really deny that this is still the best bet that they have. Besides, they can’t really change their minds because the doors close behind him. The courtyard here, though decorated in a fashion he’s never seen, is quite lovely, and they follow a path paved with thick square gray stones. When they step onto the wide porch of the  wooden palace, Matthew blinks in surprise at the design of it. The doors seem to be made out of paper stretched over wooden bars.

“I don’t quite understand,” Alfred says as he pokes gently at the paper on the door. “But it’s pretty neat. Regal or something. Maybe a bit cocky. He clearly doesn’t ever have anyone down here picking fights with him.”

“Would you pick a fight against Death?” Matthew asks, but he slides the doors here open. He looks around curiously at the place, lit with lamps and decorated with rather intricately carved wood. The floors aren't just hardwood either- there's areas where the floors seem to be made of some sort of woven plant.

“Naw, I wouldn’t want to pick a fight,” Alfred admits, but he’s distracted. “Somehow this isn’t quite what I thought the Death God’s lair to be like- all those delicate little carvings above the doors and stuff, and the paper doors… and these floors made out of plant stuff…” Alfred leans down to inspect it.

Matthew only notices the doors at the other side of the entry hall come open because of the movement drawing his eyes. There’s no sound from it at all, and Matthew takes a reflexive step back. There in the doorway a man looms- presumably this is Kiku, the God of Death. Certainly he looks frightening. He’s wearing some sort of intricate armor, a large curved helmet with horns, and a mask.

This- now this is frightening. There are several images of Death that people see, but it’s said even then Death appears differently for all cultures and towns. This is not a version of the Death God he knew, but it is certainly frightening. There were three major ways that he appeared in Matthew’s city state- warrior, priest, and specter. While the Death God didn’t show up personally for everyone, when he did come, it was easy to gauge his particular mood based on his appearance.

For now, he’s appeared as a warrior of some culture.

The god finds his voice first. “It’s fitting, isn’t it? Delicate, easy to break, easy to replace, impermanent. Wood and plant and paper require care and renewal just like the world above.” The god’s voice is hard to judge with the mask in the way. It makes his voice, quiet though it is, sound very frightening. 

Alfred leaps to his feet from inspecting the floor, and he reaches for his sword. At the same time he also backs up several paces, just as Matthew had.

“Are you the God of Death?” Alfred asks, hand on the hilt of his blade.

“I am,” the god says back. “And I’ve been waiting for you.”

Matthew watches the god turn and walk deeper into the building. He steps up on the wood, and there’s a row of slippers there. He wonders quite why since it didn’t appear that many people lived here.

“Do you think we should take our shoes off?” he asks Alfred.

Alfred shrugs and steps up onto the woven mat floor with his shoes on. “Didn’t say to. Let’s just hurry and get in, get out. This guy’s weird.”

—

Alfred likes the building and the decorations for the most part, and he’d almost believe that Kiku had good taste... if only the god wasn’t wearing the unnerving frightening mask ruining the whole nice aesthetic of the place. He follows the god through to a broad room, and in the center is a woman in armor. Something about her face reminds him of Cyril, but beyond the obvious- her red eyes and deep purple red hair- he couldn’t quite figure out why.

“Oh they finally got here, huh?” The woman lets out a long sigh. “We really need to get started. I have a group from Heaven on standby just for these kids.”

Alfred and Matthew size her up, and the woman does the same in response.

“Wait, is this about our trial?” Alfred asks.

The woman rolls her eyes. “Obviously.”

“I’ve been having a problem,” Kiku says behind his strange mask. “There are ghouls in the underworld- as always- but there’s a few now that think by eating and absorbing the souls of humans they’ll become strong enough to break out. I want you to go take care of the problem.”

Alfred nods, but Matthew looks a bit frustrated. He’s well aware that Matthew hoped they wouldn’t have a ‘monster killing’ trial.

“Yes,” the woman says. “I have my little scouts as well. You won’t be alone. We’ll come with you.” She looks Matthew over. “Are you sure he should come though? He’s not really the monster battling type, is he?”

“If he goes,” Matthew says, jaw tight. “I go.”

“Gumption. Good.” She tosses Matthew a sheathed sword, which he fumbles just a bit. "That's what you need with these kind of monsters." 

“Wait so we’re going with you?” Alfred says as the woman pushes past towards the door. “We don’t even know you. Is this our trial even?” She doesn’t look like any god Alfred has ever heard of, but perhaps she's one of Cyril’s troops in the Heavenly Army.

The woman turns, expression amused but hard. “It is your trial, kid. And until you make it through your trial, big guy, you’ll call me Commander. Got a problem with that?”

Alfred’s brows knit, but he nods. “Okay,  _Commander,_  lead the way.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kiku is wearing samurai armor with a kabuto helmet. The helmet and mask [looks something like this.](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e6/Helmet_\(kabuto\),_Edo_period,_mid-18th_century,_repouss%C3%A9_iron.JPG)


	13. Valiance

The trek through hell isn’t something that Alfred would ever want to repeat. The variety of spirits and punishments and landscapes are numerous, and the punishments especially give new meaning to the phrase ‘personal hell.’ If Alfred hadn’t already accepted Matthew’s desire to stay in Heaven, he certainly would now upon seeing what spirits go through in the underworld. Even the souls that are making their way fastest through the underworld toward rebirth looked desolate and lost.

Matthew seems to be handling things tolerably well, and he has taken to carrying Alfred’s things for him. In this way, Alfred is ready to fight when the time comes, and Matthew can get their supplies to a safe location. The members of the troop that they’re traveling with are all rather serious, and all of them, save for one, seem to be seasoned veterans of the Heavenly Army. There’s ten of them in all, and the first nine are well muscled and war hardened middle aged warriors who are no stranger to fighting ghouls and monsters.

The final man is much younger in age, and he’s not nearly so imposing. He’s tall and lanky with a mess of black hair and expressive dark eyes. Alfred and Matthew take to him much easier to than to the others. The man tells them that his name in his own language would be much too difficult for them, and he introduces himself as Valiant.

“Picked it myself~” he confides with a broad grin in them as they trudge through the nigh unbearable heat and the harsh landscape. “Evocative and cool don’cha think?”

He has a young face, and despite the choice of names, Alfred can see how frightened the poor boy is. He’d seen plenty enough of young soldiers come into the ranks, and he knows this type well enough. While some people tend to put on a strong face and are rather quiet, others put on an act of bravado. They act far more powerful than they feel, and everything about Valiant’s body language says he’s the latter. Sometimes Alfred sees him tremble and panic about his situation when he thinks no one is looking.

As always, his drive for camaraderie compels him through his journey, and he has made a mental vow to protect this man as well. It means he needs to be looking out for two people, but he’s a hero. It’s nothing he can’t handle right?

—

“How’d you get to be in the Heavenly Army?” Matthew asks Valiant as they sit around a flickering green fire. It should be much too hot for that sort of thing, but the strange flames don’t burn hot. It actually makes their little camp area a rather cozy temperature.

“I’m a very skilled with staffs and spears!” he says between large mouthfuls of food. “I mean, I can do some martial arts too, but the spear and staff work is what got me recruited. Didn’t quite expect to be fighting monsters though.”

Alfred laughs and arches a brow. “I think you should teach me too then. Only weapon I’m really good with is the sword… But I’m confused. With your skills, it seems like people would be hiring you to vanquish monsters all the time.”

Valiant wipes his mouth and offers Alfred a bit of his food- vegetables and meat over rice. Alfred shakes his head, because he’d taken him up on that offer once to find that this man ate his food  _really spicy_. That was a mistake that he didn’t intend to make a second time.

“My culture’s different than yours,” he says back with a happy smile. “Where I’m from, those trained in magic tend to fight monsters more often. I’ve never been good at using arts, so I fought on human battlefields.” Then, he launches into stories of his homeland, and Alfred and Matthew both are swept up into his wild rambling happy stories. They are childish and over-dramatic, but with the danger ahead of them, the brothers both appreciate it.

When the stories run dry, Alfred stands and drags Matthew up with him. “We’ve still got some time before camp curfew. Let’s see about those staff skills?”

Valiant accepts the challenge, and they all three get themselves equipped.

“My fighting style is the coolest and most effective,” Valiant brags as he strikes a bit of a pose with his stick.

Alfred laughs and tries to push him down. He’s mostly keeping his eyes on Matthew as he learns how to wield a staff. It would be too little too late, of course, but if Matthew could at least wield more weapons, he could protect himself better. Alfred makes them practice and train until the Commander yells at them to settle down for their daily rest.

—

“Where are we going?” Matthew asks, stumbling on the hot rocks beneath his feet. His shoes are warped from the heat, and they stick to the stone as he goes. He makes a sound of disgust and walks faster. “We haven’t even seen souls for two days now.”

The Commander turns around to shoot him a very dark stern look. “The lair of the ghouls, obviously. They need a place to hide away from the Lord of the Underworld. They hide out in these caverns.” She gestures up the rest of the hill toward a rather large set of caves. Her eyes, already startling red, start to glow. “They’re close. Just ahead. Be ready to hide yourself, Matthew.”

Matthew watches the line of warriors all look to their leader, and she nods to them.

“Ready your weapons, and stay close.”

They do as they’re told, and they all look up toward the caverns. There’s a final hill, a bit steep actually, and Matthew suddenly realizes that this is probably for a reason. The ghouls would have a bit of an advantage there at the mouth of their hide-away, and the soldiers- Alfred included- all murmur to each other about how to best approach. Valiant, face pale, steps back a bit toward Matthew and looks nervous. He shifts his grip on his staff, and Matthew sees that his palms are sweating. With as bold a smile as he can muster, Matthew reaches over to grip Valiant’s hand.

“You can do this,” Matthew tells him, voice appropriately quiet but tone quite firm. “Don’t worry.”

“Thanks Mattie,” he replies.

Then Alfred comes over to them, and he flashes them an encouraging smile. “Alright, here’s the plan,” he says before launching into a description. Then, he says, “Are you both okay? I’ll be staying near you guys on the field so just holler if you need me.”

Alfred’s smile, his tone, is bright and hopeful even in a situation like this, and Matthew can tell the boost helps Valiant as much as himself.

Before Matthew can reply though, a great shrieking rends the air around them and a horde of ghouls- flying skeletal creatures wrapped in moldy tattered capes- fly out of the caverns. Matthew finds a place behind a boulder to hide from the fray and watches as his brother charges forward.

—

Alfred takes a breath as he slashes at the creatures flying overhead. There are more of them than he’d expected, but they’re specters, wraiths, pitiful creeping things. He can deal with them easily. The other soldiers don’t seem to be having too much trouble either. 

Then he hears his brother’s voice and turns.

“Alfred! They spotted me!”

Matthew is battering them away with the staff that he’d been training with, and his sword is still at his side. Alfred knows that Matthew doesn’t have any practice fighting actual monsters, so he races back to help his brother. As he’s fending off the last of them around Matthew though, something far worse has spilled out of the caverns. These creatures aren’t so easily felled. They are the dead and hungry, stinking of rotting flesh and seething with dark magic. Their clothing was all various kinds of tattered armor and military uniforms.

When dark angry spirits couldn’t worm their way into human minds, they sometimes took to possessing the bodies of the dead. They would ride their rotting new bodies to try to be alive again, but all they felt was empty hunger. They would turn wild and lash out against the truly living with the intent of rending flesh from bone and devouring it. Eating the flesh of living humans is the only way to keep their own rotting flesh from falling away entirely.

These monsters in their armor carrying their rusted weaponry are much more serious than a flock of shrieking ghouls. The Commander’s voice rings out over the sound of battle, rallying her troops and shouting orders. Then an arrow- the stone tip black with age and feathers at the end molded- hits her shoulder, and she shouts in pain. Alfred and Matthew are both frozen in place as they watch it hit, but the woman doesn’t fall. Clearly more powerful and more divine than the men around her, she tears the arrow out, and her skin heals together almost instantly.

“You dare???” she shouts, but by now, she’s starting to glow with vicious power. It’s painful even to look at her as her body glows bright, and her sword becomes pure fire. She starts to cut down the animated corpses with renewed fervor. Alfred is caught in the show, squinting as he tries to comprehend the display of power and skill he’s seeing.

“Go,” Matthew says, pushing at Alfred’s side. “They need you, look!”

This snaps him back to the moment, and he does look. The dead are driving back the other warriors, and their formation is starting to break. He needs to go help them but…

“If I leave you, there’s no guarantee I can get back to you in time if they make it to you. These aren’t so easy to deal with…!” Alfred doesn’t want to leave his brother unprotected, but the men he’d been sharing his camp fire with for the days it had taken him to get here… they needed him.

Matthew starts to respond, to urge him on, but this his eyes go wide. He points toward the rightmost edge of the field, and Alfred follows his gaze. 

Valiant, terrified and white-faced, has fallen onto his butt, and he’s shuffling backwards with his hands as fast as his injured leg will allow. There are three large undead warriors approaching him, and Valiant can’t get to going fast enough. Too scared even to call for help, he just keeps dragging himself back in a fruitless attempt to get away from the approaching evil.

Without a word, Alfred bolts forward toward his fallen friend. As he closes the gap, he becomes surer and surer that he’s not going to make it in time. The dead are raising their blades, and he knows the only hope he has of helping the kid might end with those blades buried in his own flesh… then what would Matthew do?? He’d be leaving his brother in the most dangerous situation he’d ever faced with few weapons and even less training.

Then Bela’s words, those things she’d whispered into his ear in the Heavenly Kingdom, come to him suddenly, clearly. “ _Even if you take the blades, he will be safe.”_

“Even if I take the blades…” Alfred says aloud as he dashes the final way through the battlefield. “He will be safe…” Matthew, she had meant Matthew, but Alfred would make sure that this man that he barely knew, this happy sweet kid, would be safe too. He leaps in front of the man just as the blades swing down.

—   
Just a moment before Alfred leaps, Matthew suddenly realizes what he’s about to do.

Matthew sees it all happen, sees three blades come down into Alfred’s back. Frozen in place with bile rising up in his throat, he sees Alfred shakily force himself to his feet with blood pouring from his back. It’s quite clear even from the distance that though his armor had taken a brunt of the blows that those cuts are deep. Matthew’s breath starts to come in quick pants as he watches the dead size up their new combatant. Tears come to his eyes when he sees the exact moment Valiant starts to cry and reach out for Alfred.

Then Matthew is moving, running, mind blank with fear for his amazing, dumb, courageous, idiot brother. He sees his brother take out two rotting monsters, but he also sees the third take advantage of his comrades’ deaths. Matthew is close enough that more than seeing, he  _hears_  the rusted blade thrust into and through Alfred’s stomach. The sound of battle roars around him, but all of that seems strangely muted as he focuses solely on Alfred.

Alfred stumbles backwards, blade still buried deep into him, and he laughs in a hoarse way. The dead face leers at him, but Alfred just laughs again.

“Good sh-shot…but if I’m going down,” he says, “you’re coming with me…”

With his last bit of strength, Alfred brings his sword up and he deftly slices half of the monster’s face off. The leer is split into two pieces before the creature falls- body going one way and half of his head going the other. If only this meant that the damage the creature had done would go along with him…

Alfred falls then as well, and he’s coughing up blood when he hits the ground. Fear and desperation is clawing at Matthew’s heart, and he drops down to his knees at his side. “Alfred, Alfred, c’mon, it’s okay, look at me yeah?” Matthew says as he pulls his brother’s head into his lap. “C’mon now, can you hear me?” He looks at the blade, still deep in his stomach, and knows that taking it out would be even worse.

Alfred’s lips are wet and red with blood, and his face is deathly pale. He is wracked with coughs before he can respond. “’Course I can,” he mumbles, trying to smile. “You’re bein’ really loud…”

Matthew can tell that with the blood pouring from his back that even if he had some way to pull the sword free and sew up his organs that Alfred would still just bleed out anyways. “Alfred, don’t you dare die on me,” Matthew says, tears now falling down his face. The sounds of fighting behind him are starting to settle down into an eerie post-fight quiet. There’s a bit of shuffling and the sounds of people retrieving their weapons and armor, but Matthew only has eyes for his brother. “I need you! You’re the only family I got left!”

“You got a new family now,” Alfred croaks. He finds Matthew’s hand and tries to give it a squeeze. His hands tremble and shake so bad though that he can’t really manage. “Up in Heaven. A whole hall full of musician brothers and dreamy sisters. And a god who deems you worthy.”

“But I want you, Alfred, you’re my family. I told you none of that mattered without you!”

Alfred doesn’t respond though, eyes distant with pain. Valiant has dragged himself over, tears falling down even faster than Matthew’s. “Why??” he says, hand pushing at Alfred’s chest. “Why, why, why?? I was the one who messed up. It was my place to die for my mistakes.”

“No!” Alfred says, though he coughs again as Valiant pushes at him. “You are a bright worthy soldier. Just… oh gods owww…” For a second he’s trying to conquer the pain to talk again, gripping at his stomach then at the blade as if he’s going to pull it out. “Just tell Cyril to train his rookies more before sending them out on missions like this…” There’s even more pain in his eyes, though, when he says Cyril’s name. “Tell him… I’m sorry for failing him, yeah?”

Valiant tries to say more, but Matthew cuts him off. “He’s too weak to keep this up…”

So Matthew tries to soothe him, and he wipes cloth over his forehead to get the sweat and blood off of his face. Alfred’s face is losing color now, and his eyes are starting to lose focus. He was going to pass out from the pain or the loss of blood soon, but Matthew has one more thing he needs to say.

“I love you, Alfred. You’re my big brother yeah? You’re supposed to stick around to help me out?”

Alfred laughs- they’d long argued over which of them was the true ‘big brother’ since they were twins and only minutes separated their birth. It’s a teasing jibe in the last few minutes together, and it makes his dying brother smile up at him in that same sunshine way as always. It’s ruined by the blood staining his lips and teeth, but it’s a smile. It makes Matthew cry harder.

“Love you too, Mattie,” he croaks back. His voice is starting to fade though, and the last thing that he manages to say is a broken. “…she said… said you’d be safe…”

Then his eyes close and his breathing gets shallow. Matthew screams at the soldiers around him, screams at their Commander with her divine battle fury, at Valiant to do something  _anything_ to save Alfred.

But none of them can. The Commander even looks ashamed and guilty, but she shakes her head, the power still fading from her glowing skin.

“My magicks don’t run to healing,” she says softly. “There’s nothing I can do…”

Matthew cries and curses at them like anything, but when Alfred’s body goes slack and his breathing stops, there’s nothing he can do to bring him back. He’s dead only for a few moments before his body starts to flicker, starts to fade. Matthew tries to grab him closer, tries to hold him tight.

Panic rises in his chest. He wouldn’t leave his brother’s body down in the depths of hell like this. If nothing else, Alfred deserved a hero’s burial. By now though, Matthew’s fingers pass through the body as though it’s not there, and he realizes it’s not Alfred that’s fading. It’s him.

Everything around him is vague and insubstantial, the warriors and landscapes nearly see-through. At the very last moment, Valiant leans in and says right against his ear, “Keep up hope. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

Then Matthew is in another place, still a stone room and probably still in the underworld. Hope… that sounds so hollow and so far away for him right now. How could watching his only brother die in his arms come with a hopeful side? He doesn’t have time to dwell on this though, because there’s a tall elegant woman standing over him. She has dark chestnut colored hair piled up into a lovely bun and bright almost purple eyes. Her clothes are business-like, and everything about her screams at him that she’s important.

Matthew turns his face away from her to wipe the tears from his cheeks, and he tries to level his breathing back out. He realizes that this person had come here to see him and lead him off to whatever he had coming next. As he had taken the test with Alfred, Matthew figures that he must’ve failed too. Well, if they failed together, that simply meant that he could work his way back up to Earth with Alfred at his side.

The woman speaks then, tone clipped and stern. “Get up, love. Your test isn’t over yet.”

—

In Heaven, Cyril and Jule have been waiting together for news about their human companions. They both know that time in those tests might not be moving at the same rate, because the Elder Gods had the power to do as they wished. They are rather hoping that this gets resolved quickly for once but no such luck for them.

After two days of no news, they’re both anxious, and they had taken to sitting with each other during the day. It helps keep them calm. Right now, no news is also good news, because they know the goddesses will inform them when the ‘game is over’. So far, they both must be alright. This is why Jule is so upset and startled when during one of their afternoon chats Cyril sits bolt upright in his chair. His eyes go wide, and his hands come up as though he’s reaching for something.

Or perhaps someone.

“Something is wrong,” he says, voice barely there. “Something is wrong with Alfred. Something went wrong. Fuck fuck, I knew this was a bad idea…!” He leaps to his feet but then stands stock still, eyes dashing back and forth as though he’s scanning the writing on a scroll. Finally he looks away in disgust and turns to violently blow a table to smithereens.

There’s panic and wild abandon and heartbreak on his face. “They won’t let me locate him. What the hell have they done??” He looks to the ceiling and starts to scream his rage, “ANYA. BELA GET DOWN HERE AND TELL ME WHERE HE IS!”

Jule rises from his chair and approaches his brother slowly as he berates the goddesses harshly. There is no answer, no sudden appearance of the women themselves. When Cyril realizes they aren’t coming, he curses and starts to destroy more of the poor furniture in his sitting room. The chair closest to him follows the way of the table, and he moves forward to rip a pillow into pieces. White downy feathers explode out of it before Cyril turns to lay hands on the tea set resting on a side table.

Before he can smash it to pieces, Jule catches him around the middle and drags him back “Hey! Stop being an idiot! This isn’t helping!”

“It’s fucking making me feel better!” Cyril snaps back at him. He struggles against his brother’s hands, but Jule holds him closer. “They’ve done something to him. He’s in pain, Jule, I can fucking feel it.”

“You can’t do anything though,” Jule replies, trying to send as much of his soothing sleepy magic into his brother as possible. It doesn’t do much at first, and Cyril still manages to send out a ball of fire to destroy the tea set and the side table in a small explosion of glass and wood.

Then, Cyril lets out one last shout of frustrated anguish, and he stops struggling, slumping into Jule’s arms. He looks more defeated than angry now, worry winning out over fury. “I have to help him,” Cyril says, his voice a lamentation. “He’s hurt. I can feel it.”

“I know,” Jule replies gently. It’s not often that he babies his War God of a brother, but now, he lets the other bury his face against his shoulder. He gives Cyril the kind of comfort he knows he’d need if the situation was reversed, and he rubs his back. “We just have to wait it out. If he lost… wouldn’t they say something to us?”

There’s a moment of quiet as Cyril thinks this over. “Maybe… unless they’re only waiting for Matthew to finish as well and tell us the results at the same time…”

Jule knows that could be true too. It wouldn’t make sense to him though. They undoubtedly knew of Matthew but they had seemed much more interested in Alfred. If he was truly the one they wanted, how could he fail? Was Matthew who they wanted all along? Speculation just made trying to be still and wait even worse.

“Let’s not think that way,” Jule says, heart aching for Cyril. “Let’s wait and see.”

But they both continue to think this way, worrying over their human favorites and whatever fate the Elder Gods have planned for them. 


	14. Bleeding Gold

Dying is nothing to the pain Alfred is experiencing now. Death had been gentle and quiet. Body wracked with pain, obviously, but the loss of blood meant his awareness of it wasn’t incredibly acute. Now, though, he’s wide awake, and it feels like there is molten fire flowing through his veins. It’s burning him down from the inside, and though he thinks he might be screaming, he isn’t really sure that’s his own voice.

The sound is so far away from his reality that it could be someone else.

Really, he’s not even sure where he is. The entirety of his awareness has been whittled down to the deep burning pain searing every piece of him, and he thinks, maddeningly, that chopping off a limb would make him feel better. He’s sure that would hurt too, but it’d be fewer places to burn so badly. He struggles against his own body, but he’s not able to do anything or move to combat the pain.

Alfred is unsure how to fight off flames that seem to be searing through his very veins. Everything before his eyes is a blur of color and shape, and he can’t process it through the agony. Slowly it eases and stops, and he falls into a deep unconsciousness. If this is hell, as Alfred is so sure it is, then this is a tactic to give him some hope. He’s utterly convinced he’ll wake up to burning, to that excruciating pain, again, and so his sleep is not a restful one.

—

“Get up, love. Your test isn’t over yet.”

Matthew looks up at the woman standing over him, and he takes a shaking breath. “Isn’t it over? Alfred… well, we were taking it together. He failed, so I fail too right?” 

The woman’s lips press into a tight line, and she shakes her head. She’s very elegant, this woman, and very beautiful, but he can see that she’s also rather stern. “No, a follower of Jule can’t take the same test as a follower of Cyril. Their aspects are too different. You were there, because you were needed. Now your test begins.”

Something in the way she says that is like water being doused over his skin. “I… I was there as part of the test wasn’t I? I was there as … as some sort of pawn??” Tears are in his eyes again, and he leaps to his feet to glare at this woman in front of him. “A pawn in the death of my brother?”

The woman, strangely enough, doesn’t look offended. In fact, she smiles at him and arches a brow. “You humans are always so vibrant and passionate- even the followers of the Jule. Your brother is not the point right now, and you’d do well to worry more about yourself. Come along. You have a test to take.” She turns away from him and begins to stride away, and Matthew hurries to stumble after her.

“Let me at least go back and deal with my brother’s body!” he pleads. “He deserves better than his resting place being in the pit of hell.”

“They will see that his body dealt with. They have lost comrades before, and they will be respectful.” She’s curt, tone offering no comfort or warmth to him. She is leading him back toward one of the passages that the ghosts pass through as they head up along toward the reincarnation gate. Now though there’s a stool and a little basket. “Here’s where you will work. You have all the things you need to paint here.”

“You just want me to paint…?” That hardly seemed like a test though. There had to be a catch.

“Yes, anything you wish. Paint upon the wall. I’ll give you a time limit.” She takes out an hour glass. “More than an hour though I think. Painting takes time…” The hour glass in her hand increases in size magically, more sand appearing in the bottom. “But time will still be precious here. Don’t waste it. Finish your art before the sand runs out of the glass. I will come back and judge you.” She turns it over and the sand starts to fall.

Of course, Matthew starts to ask questions about what exactly she wants from him- what exactly he should paint or why he was painting here. Suddenly, though, she’s not standing there, disappearing into a thin air in the way that all gods seem to. So he’s alone again in the tunnel. Well, he’s the only living person there. The ghosts keep jostling around him as they head up along the tunnel. It’s alright that she didn’t stay to answer his questions. He knows what he’s going to paint anyway.

Taking out the materials, he starts in on his painting- a large portrait of his beloved brother. If this place was what did him in, Matthew would never let them forget about him. He’d put his brother’s image here on the walls of the underworld to remind them that a hero fell here trying to protect a comrade. It’s easier than painting most other people’s faces from memory, because he knows Alfred’s face rather well. It’s so similar to his own after all, and Matthew takes out his blade. He had no mirror but in the silver shine of the hilt he can see his reflection.

Not the best reference to work off of, but it was better than nothing. As he’s settling in, the real issues start. The more he paints, the more the ghosts around him take notice of him. They tug at his hair and at his clothes. They whisper things about themselves about their life and their wants, but Matthew can’t help them. He simply tries to focus his attention on his work. It’s hard, though, with their tugging, distracting presences, and it’s giving him a headache.

‘ _I just want to tell my son I’m sorry. I want to see him again,”_ a man says against his ear.

‘ _My friends, my friends, they must be missing me. I want to see them,’_ a girl, a teenager, says with feeling.

‘ _Help me find my love,’_ another woman pleads. ‘ _She will be looking for me.'_

Voices threaten to drown out his thoughts, but Matthew is tireless. He continues to work and paint and flesh out the image of his brother on the stone. Eventually there’s a heroic face smiling back out at him, and Matthew has to wipe his eyes before he can continue.

It’s hard to paint through the blur of tears.

Then Matthew starts to paint Alfred’s chest and his armor. He takes off the extra armor that his brother had given him, and he leans it against the wall near his feet. Taking this as his reference and trying to imagine his brother in it, he does the best that he can.

It’s when he’s finished with the bust that he feels a ghost tug at his clothes. This one is different from many of the others, because this ghost isn’t tugging at his sleeves or his collar or his shirt. This ghostly hand is tugging at his pant leg rather earnestly, and Matthew looks down to find a child. A small boy with thick black hair falling around his face, bangs rather straight. He’s wearing foreign clothes- robe-like-, and there are tears in his eyes.

Just another distraction, Matthew thinks, even though his heart pangs for the boy. So young to die and have to be in a place like this. It was sad really. He looks back to the wall, but then the child speaks in that same whispered pleading way that all the ghosts around him do.

‘ _Please sister, give me a turn with the brush,’_  he says, tugging again at Matthew’s clothes.

His heart is in his throat at the child thinking of the sister he’d left behind. Sympathetic for such a loss, Matthew looks down at this poor child, and he knows suddenly that he can’t leave this boy alone. A small lonely ghost that he has the power to soothe even a little… helping him would be the noble thing. Painting his brother as noble as he was, then refuse to help one of the few ghosts whose pleas he could respond too?

It would feel hypocritical at best. Time limit be damned, he thinks, as he moves to help the child. If he fails, then perhaps he’ll end up wherever Alfred is now. So he takes some of his paint and says to the child, “Let’s go to the opposite wall, little one. And you can have a turn with the brush.”

The child’s little face lights up, and Matthew leads him to the opposite side- a fresh canvas for the boy. He tries to hand the child the paintbrush, but the boy can’t quite hold it. It slips through his fingers and hits the stone with a clatter. The boy looks disappointed, and he tries to pick it up again. It’s still difficult for him to hold it for more than a few moments at a time, and Matthew leans down to hold it with him, following the little boy’s hands as he raises the brush for him.

“There now, what do you want to make?” Matthew asks. “I’ll help keep the brush steady…”

‘ _Sister likes rabbits, right?’_ the boy asks softly.  _‘So I will make a rabbit for you.’_

Between the fact that his little hands will suddenly slip through the brush and the likelihood that it's been awhile since he’s seen an actual rabbit, the child is struggling rather to make something that looks like a bunny. The boy begins to cry as he makes vaguely rabbit shaped blobs on the wall.

‘ _Not good enough,’_ the boy laments.  _‘Not good enough for my sister…’_

“Shhh, now,” Matthew says to him. “Shhh, this is practice I’ll help you. I’ll help you make an amazing rabbit.”

So Matthew begins to guide him and teach him to paint a bit better. He’s done it before, back on Earth, when he was in Jule’s temple. Little urchin children who needed not only food and help but fun and learning and skills- Matthew had done the best that he could for them with his limited resources as a temple boy. Teaching them and guiding them with a brush was interesting for him, and it brought him much joy to spread a bit of his god’s skills to the children who were willing to learn.

Matthew becomes so involved teaching this child that he loses track of the hourglass. Helping the boy had distracted Matthew from the loss of his brother for the moment, and strangely enough, it had given him a bit of hope. This child is making his way back to Earth in such a dreary place, and Matthew couldn’t help but be impressed with him. After a few tries, the two of them together come up with a rather lovely little rabbit. Sure, there are several other blobs and discarded attempts on the walls nearby, but they have made a good one.

‘ _Thank you,'_ the child tells him, wonder in his voice. ‘ _Thank you, sister.’_

Not for the first time, Matthew wonders just what the ghosts see when they look at him. Some of them, obviously, didn’t see anyone familiar, but sometimes they spoke to him as though he should know what they meant. They seem to see him as someone familiar to themselves, and this boy has been calling him sister since he came close.

“Wait, wait,” Matthew says to the boy before he can leave. “Come and sign your name.” He adds in his head, ‘So when your sister comes through here, she’ll see your art for her.’

The boy comes close again and says, ‘ _I remember the easy way to write it!’_ Then he painstakingly guides Matthew’s hands to write his name in some foreign lettering. Two symbols-きく… Matthew wants to ask him how to say it, but if this child truly sees him as his sister it might upset him. Then the boy drops the brush again and looks down the tunnel.

_‘Let’s go sister. We can get back home that way.’_

“I’ll follow soon,” Matthew says. “Go on ahead of me. I’ll be there soon.”

Expression serious, the little boy nods and then turns to head up the tunnel. Matthew waves at him before turning back to the hourglass. Time was just about out now… Oh well. He’d add a border to his bust and call it finished. He had enough time for that at least. So he gets to work on it with the remaining time he has left. It would have to be enough.

As the sand runs out, Matthew is covered in paint, but his border is completed. A lovely portrait of his brother is now on one side of the wall with every bit of loving detail he can include in such a short time. On the other side are small drawings of rabbits he’d made with the child.

“Rather good likeness,” his overseer says, suddenly appearing behind him. “For so short a time. What are these rabbits though?”

Matthew heaves out a sigh as he turns to greet the woman who set him at his task. “A child… he wanted to paint for his sister so…”

“Well,” the woman says, eyes sparkling with amusement. “I hope you feel confident with what you’ve done.” She claps her hands, and then they’re somewhere else. 

It only takes a moment of blinking back disorientation for him to realize he’s somewhere in the palace of the underworld again. This is where their journey started, and this is where it must end apparently. There’s a table off to one side now, and there’s a bottle on it. 

“I’m confident with what I’ve done,” Matthew finally manages to say. “I did what I was asked to do and I helped a child. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

For a moment, the woman smiles at him, all warm and approving, then she points to the bottle on the table.  “Then have your elixir, and your test is over.”

“Did I pass?” Matthew asks as he moves to pick it up.

The woman smiles, though there’s something about her eyes that tell him that this isn’t quite finished. “I’d like to say yes,” she says. “Now drink your elixir and let’s have done with this.”

Although he hesitates, Matthew nods, and he trusts the goddess who is administering his test. He pulls the cork from the top of the bottle and drinks it all down.

—

Alfred wakes up in a strange room on a futon. There’s no pain now, but as he stares up at the ceiling he can feel blood flowing down his chest and stomach. He reaches up to touch it, mind still a bit foggy and unclear. If he was in hell, then the torment should start up again soon.

When he pulls his fingers up instead of finding normal blood, he finds something thicker than blood and rather more golden. More than that, it’s fresh and wet, and he jerks into a sitting position, looking down at a wound on his chest over his heart that is bleeding gold.

“What the fuck—“ he says, struggling to his feet and looking around the room–back at the Death God’s palace, it would seem.

Then Valiant is at the door. “Oh you’re awake! Awesome! I’ll go get Kiku!” There’s the sound of quick footfalls down the hall, and when Valiant reappears, there’s another man with him. This man is quite short compared to Valiant, and he has a serious sort of face. He offers Alfred a very small, polite smile.

“Hello Alfred, it’s good to see you back and awake.”

“Wait…” Alfred says, momentarily distracted and entirely amused. “You’re the Death God? Kiku? You’re tiny! But… you were so scary before, with the mask and helmet and all that…!” He moves to stand up, and he finds that his body is still sore. There’s a dull burning ache in his muscles that reminds him of his ordeal and the amusement of finding such a small sweet looking Death is gone. He falls back on his ass and rubs his legs. “So… I’m dead then. Otherwise I wouldn’t still be here or be… bleeding…? I mean… I wasn’t even stabbed in the chest but… And then the burning, ow, I can still almost feel it…”

He touches the strange golden wound and takes a breath as he steels himself for hearing the worst.

“Oh no, of course not,” Kiku says softly. “That’s residual burn from the conversion. You’ll be set to right soon. Amelia will explain—.” Here Valiant cuts him off.

“Oh man, Alfred you were so cool though. So dramatic! So touching! What you did was amazing!”

Alfred turns to look at him, and he smiles at the familiar exuberance. “I’m thinking you’re not who you made yourself out to be either, but I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, arching a brow.

Valiant smiles and takes a rather theatrical sort of bow. “You’ve found me out~ I’m actually Im Yong Soo! You have my permission to be impressed!”

While he does want to be impressed for the sake of his friend, that name doesn’t have any real meaning to him. “Im Yong Soo…?”

Yong Soo pouts at him, and Alfred catches Kiku trying to hide a smile.

“Well, Matthew would know who I am. I’m the God of Drama and Theater~! It’s why I was so very good at my role as the group’s young inexperienced soldier~” Yong Soo gives him a broad friendly smile. “You’re impressed now right?”

“Oh yeah of course!” Alfred says, but part of what Yong Soo has just said has him looking around. “Speaking of Matthew, where is he?”

“We’ll talk about him in a second,” a new voice says- a woman’s voice. She enters the room in a pair of trousers and a form-fitting shirt. This woman has a familiar face with big blue eyes and blonde hair cut around her face. She smiles at him and says, “We need to talk about you first. You’re wondering about that golden blood huh?”

The other two gods in the room fall back a few steps as the woman enters, and Alfred has the impression that she is higher ranked than them.

Alfred nods, and he studies her face. “Commander?”

“Oh yeah that. That was my more chaotic form- back from the days I was still channeling chaotic energy to make stars,” she says.

“You’re Amelia,” Alfred replies, throat going a bit dry.

“I am,” she confirms. “And I was in charge of your test. We'll go sit in the other room, and Kiku here will get us some tea while I explain exactly how your test went.” Then she pauses and arches a brow. “Could you get rid of that bleeding wound though. At least for now. It’s a bit distracting.”

“How?”

“Just… just pretend it’s not there.”

So Alfred does- he looks down at his chest and imagines that there is no wound and no golden blood… and then it happens. The wound and all the golden blood disappears completely. Alfred becomes excited and looks up at her. “Thanks!”

Amelia smiles “Don’t thank me just yet. Let’s sit and talk.”

Alfred nods, and Kiku bows at the door. “This way then,” he says softly. “I have tea out for us.”

Following behind them, Alfred rubs his chest and wonders at the odd wound he’d had there. Amelia would explain what was going on and then he’d see about Matthew. He’s lead into a room of Kiku’s strange palace, and he moves to sit down on a cushion on the floor in front of a low table.

“So, my test…?” Alfred says, voice questioning. He’s staring at her uncertainly, but if he was here, talking with her like this he was probably okay right? What was that burning then? “How did I do?”

“Clearly you passed,” Amelia says back. “Your transformation was successful. It wasn’t… completely what we thought it would be, but…”

“What’dya mean? The wound?” He reaches up and touches his chest, a feeling of success welling up within him despite what she’s said. Different from what they were expecting was much better than completely failed. “Am I immortal now or what?”

“Yes, you have won your divinity, but the wound isn’t the part that’s surprising. You were perfectly suited to being a minor deity. We had thought, at first, that you were suited to watch over the heroes who sacrifice themselves in battle. A minor aspect of war, but one he doesn’t have a representative for. You’d be wonderful for that role. It’s why you have the…” she waves her hand toward his chest. “The bleeding heart. It’s your true form as a fallen warrior… and one that Marianne put into the magic to transform you. A more romantic image than a gut wound, she said. The God of Heroes bleeding golden ichor from his heart.”

Well, that made sense… “At least it doesn’t hurt then. I’d hate to live forever with a bleeding painful chest wound.”

Amelia laughs and downs her tea, and Kiku moves immediately to refill her cup. She smiles at him, and she slides her fingers up along his wrist. “Why thank you Kiku~” she says in a sweet yet rather sly voice.

 Kiku blushes first, then Alfred does. The Sun Goddess is definitely flirting with the God of Death, and something about the timing makes it awkward. Neither Yong Soo or Amelia think so though, and Yong Soo nudges Kiku.

“Ohhh, that’s why she’s been visiting you so much huh??”

Kiku clears his throat now that everyone in the room is staring at him, and he looks over at Alfred. “We were talking about important things?” he says, clearly not wanting even half of the attention he's getting.

“Oh right!” Amelia says, drawn back to what she was saying. “Alfred. Your transformation wasn’t quite what we thought it would be. Seems like you’re not just a god for fallen warriors. Should’ve seen that coming but well. More like, you’ve become the God of Self Sacrifice. Not just warriors, but anyone who falls to an act of self sacrifice. A mother starving so that her child has food, a boy taking the place of his brother to die, a girl catching deathly ill in pursuit of helping a friend. That is the role your conversion has given you.”

“How exactly is that different??” Alfred sips his tea with a surprising amount of calm for being told that he’s a god now. Mostly though, the reality of that hasn’t quite kicked in. He still feels the same after all… Nothing has changed about him, other than the fact that if he doesn’t concentrate his chest will start gushing blood.

“It’s different, because it means that you’re not simply under Cyril’s chain of command. You were meant to be an aspect just of war- war heroes particularly. But we didn’t realize… Well, for this to work you had to actually die, for one, and perhaps because your own morality- like trying to resolve your test with Anya without hurting her- being on a basic level an aspect of war didn’t suit you. So you are under both Cyril’s aspect and Kiku’s…”

At this pronouncement, Alfred knows he looks a little shell-shocked. “Under Kiku’s as well?? Can that happen? He didn’t sponsor me!”

“No I didn’t,” Kiku says, looking quite flustered. “But you  _did_ die.”

Amelia nods. “And there’s the bit we didn’t consider. The test could’ve went other ways- you could’ve saved someone in your group in a heroic act. You could’ve dedicated yourself to protecting your brother instead of risking your life for Yong Soo. But you didn’t. You chose to die for a comrade- the route we thought you’d take which is why Yong Soo was there. Most people will do anything for a brother, but not everyone will take a blade for a comrade… In that case though, for all intents for you to take the potion to transform you into the god you are, Kiku had to pardon your soul for your sacrifice long enough for you to change.”

“And he did…” Alfred actually feels a little warm at that thought, looking at the quiet death god. “So I get to work with Cyril and Kiku! That doesn’t sound so bad.”

Kiku then says, “It also means that you’ll be working with ghosts and dead people…”

Alfred’s heart drops, and his eyes go wide.

“Oh right he’s scared of ghosts!! Oh that’s rough!!” Amelia’s laughing then, though, amused by this turn of events. “But hey! Look at it this way. You can live in Cyril’s household and also be equal to him instead of a servant under him. You actually managed to make it out of this test with pretty good deal!“

Before Alfred could respond to that though, somewhere else in the palace of the dead, someone begins to scream, and Alfred immediately recognizes that voice.

Matthew… Matthew is screaming, and Alfred leaps to his feet to get to his brother.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of Alfred's transformation by radiant [ vi-6w6](http://vi-6w6.tumblr.com)!!


	15. Compromise and Communication

When he gets to his brother, Alfred finds him writhing in pain on the strange mat floors of the Death God’s palace. Matthew is convulsing and jerking, and though he is making clawing motions at his body, he doesn’t have the coordination to actually dig his fingers in before starting to jerk again. There’s a woman standing over him, watching him struggle.

“What the hell did you do to Mattie?!” Alfred says as he charges into the room. He starts to shove her aside, but then Amelia is catching him, dragging him back. Though he struggles, the goddess is much more powerful than him.

“Calm down! It’s alright!” she says, a bit of a guilty tone in her voice. “This is… well, it’s normal!”

“How the fuck is that normal??” he asks, but the woman in the room is turning toward him and giving him an arch expression.

“Ahhh so much passion. Anya was right about him- I like him quite a lot… Though I do like his brother a bit better.” She looks down at Matthew again, sympathy in her expression. Then her features change, soften, and her hair lightens to a lovely auburn, eyes becoming blue. Even her clothes blur and morph- her stern uniform becoming a flowing sort of gown.

Alfred flounders a little at the change, but the words have him stirred up again. “Like him better? Even though you’re hurting him??”

“It’s alright,” the goddess said. “I think it’s almost over…”

Of course, this had the opposite effect to calming Alfred down. Amelia is still hanging on to him, so even though he jolts toward Matthew, he doesn’t really get very far. 

“Don’t interfere! Marianne doesn’t mean he’s going to die,” Amelia says sharply.

Alfred tries to relax in the goddess’s hold, but then Marianne smiles and says, “Well ideally he isn’t going to die.”

“What!!” Alfred feels ready to throttle all of them. “What do you mean??”

Then, the screaming abruptly stops, and Matthew floats up off the ground. He’s in a nearly standing position, but he’s hovering off the ground. His eyes come open, but there’s nothing there that says he’s awake or aware. In fact, his eyes are strange, blue suddenly darkening to a purple color, and his skin is glowing

Marianne smiles and steps forward to look into his eyes. “Good, no surprises this time…”

As the glow on his skin starts to fade, patches of dried paint of various colors appears on his cheeks, on his hands and arms. Marianne smiles and waves her hand over his face. The configuration of the splotches changes, almost looking artfully painted on instead of accidentally transferred. She strokes a hand through his hair, and more golden highlights appear in his hair. After this, she nods and steps back. Matthew’s eyes close again, and he starts to fall backwards.

Amelia lets Alfred go and says, “Alright, now go and catch him.”

Instantly, Alfred is moving close to Matthew, and he catches him. For a moment, Matthew is still almost weightless as he falls back, but then whatever magic that is suspending him wears off. Alfred is plenty strong enough to hold his weight, and he lowers him to the floor. He sits down himself as well, and he holds Matthew close against his chest. For a moment he strokes his hair and looks into his face, making sure he’s unharmed. Only when he’s satisfied that Matthew is all in one piece and okay, he looks up at Marianne.

“What did you do to him??”

“I let him take the elixir that would change him. It has to make him immortal, to change the makeup of his body and his blood. It’s painful…” Marianne comes to kneel down in front of him. “You experienced it too yes? The burning in your veins. That was your blood turning to ichor.”

Alfred nods at her words, still confused that it should be such a gruesomely painful process. “And… and all the floating and open eyed staring… that happened to me too?” At this, his hand comes up, and he touches his cheek below his eye. “Are mine a different color too?”

Marianne laughs and something in it makes him feel warm- it’s a bright charming sort of sound. Perhaps, it’s because she’s the goddess of love? “No your eyes are the same still. His changed because… Well honestly I can’t say why they did. We don’t have full control of the process. They’ll take their aspect and we can look into their eyes, figure out what the magic has found in them to change them. Your brother, as we expected, is now a muse. Muse of Painting, specifically.”

“But you did the wavy magic hand thing and changed how he looked a little afterwards…”

“Yes, we have a bit of control, but the basics of what he becomes the elixir decides. We always change a bit afterwards to make it more appropriate or more…” She shrugs a little. “Attractive or meaningful. Like your bleeding heart~”

Alfred lets out a long low sigh. “But he’s okay now.”

“Maybe a bit of lingering aches,” Amelia says. “Well, apparently. It took you awhile to wake up, too, but once he’s woken up, we’ll explain things to him too.”

“So it’s all over…” Alfred says. He looks down into his sleeping brother’s face, and such a rush of relief washes through him that it almost brings tears to his eyes. “And we’re both okay… We’re both okay.” He kisses his brother’s hair and clings to him for several more minutes before he gently puts Matthew down, Kiku coming forward with a pillow for his head and a blanket.

“Not quite over,” Amelia says with a smile. “We still have to get you ready to present to your sponsors. Jule will probably be fine, but Cyril…” She laughs and looks at Marianne. They share some sort of thought between them. “Cyril doesn’t like to share.”

Then Alfred remembers that he’s an aspect of Death and War- of the heroic, noble variety thankfully-, and he gets a bit pale. “Oh… right yeah…”

Kiku gently touches his hand and offers him a barely there smile in encouragement. Alfred nods, and he stands to follow the two goddess from the room. Both of them are already talking about his full godly armor- apparently tailored to what his ‘full godly form’ looks like. Nervous now, Alfred’s chest starts to bleed ichor again, and he can’t quite concentrate hard enough to disappear it the way he had earlier.

—

Early in the morning, a messenger from Bela comes to Cyril, and he’s led with some trepidation into the main palace of the gods. It’s the largest building in the Heavenly Kingdom- and rightly and thankfully so. The Elder Goddesses and Bela live together here, and if they didn’t have their own space they might be more prone to fighting and messing things up. It was good to have them together- for they are stronger that way- but it is also good that they each had their own space.

Ever since that day- the day when he felt deep down in his bones- that Alfred was in trouble, Cyril hadn’t been able to feel him at all anymore. There was no feeling of him, no hint of the connection that he tended to feel with his followers. Jule had said it was probably the nature of things, but his brother didn’t understand.

Jule still thought that Matthew was okay… He couldn’t be sure of course, because neither of them could feel their charges all that clearly once the test had started. Unlike Cyril, though, he hadn’t felt Matthew fade out of his perception. If he was dead, his soul was still somewhere closer than the depths of Kiku’s realm. For Cyril, it was like Alfred was gone so completely and fully that if he had failed… well, it had been bad enough to get him out of the wheel of reincarnation completely.

So when he meets his brother on the stairs going into the palace, Cyril gives him a curt quick nod. Jule nods back, and they climb the steps together. He knows that Jule can see how unsettled and unhappy he is, and in just the same way, Cyril can see the nerves and distress radiating off of his seemingly calm brother.

“Whatever happens,” Jule says. His voice is quiet and solemn. “Remember that I supported you through this. As you did for me.”

“Of course. I’ll remember it.” Cyril knows that this is Jule’s way of saying that if Alfred had died in his attempt that he doesn’t want it to become a feud again. Likewise, if Matthew failed, Jule wouldn’t be in conflict with him for it. They had, the last few days, been often in each other’s company, and it had made the wait easier. It had also helped them get over the petty argument they’d had over the boys too… though that was helped along by the fact that Cyril had long since lost any real interest in Matthew. A good human, of course, but Alfred was a more than acceptable trade.

 Now that this is said, they both fall silent again as they’re led into a audience chambers. One side of the room is the Elder Gods… and strangely enough Kiku as well.

 _Odd that_ , Cyril thinks. Kiku is one of the most reclusive gods of the pantheon and he rarely ever leaves his kingdom if he can help it. It gives Cyril a heavy sense of foreboding.

 Anya and Bela stand close to each other, and Anya is speaking in one of the old tongues to her. Marianne is harassing Alice, and Sakura is trying to get Amelia to stop hitting on an incredibly flustered Kiku. Chunyan is talking rapidly and happily, and Madeline stands at her side, nodding and offering comments when appropriate. 

All in all, it’s quite a loud little party when Jule and Cyril enter the room, and it takes them all a few moments to notice that their summoned guests have arrived. Alice sees them first as she’s trying to get away from Marianne, and so she tries to call the room to order. It doesn’t work until someone gets Amelia’s attention, and she shouts over the crowd to ‘Come to order!’

The goddesses move to take a seat- with the exception of Amelia and Marianne. They stand together and talk to each other in low tones while Cyril and Jule are shown to a seat. It would make sense for those two goddesses to be in charge of Alfred and Matthew’s test. It was generally thought that Cyril and Jule took after these two goddesses. Indeed, it had been Amelia and Marianne that had found them on the heavenly mountain when they appeared there as child gods born from the human creation of art and war. Sometimes people find it strange- art and war both brothers connected to Amelia and Marianne. It made plenty of sense to Cyril really. Both were Elder Gods with no strong particular aspects like the younger deities, but they were both passionate and quick to love and laugh and enjoy life.

They were also, therefore, quick to fight and squabble over the things they held dear. Great love and high passions bring happiness and art and creativity… but they also inspire fighting and the urge to protect. Wars have been fought for love- love of a person, love of a country, love of a religion. Art and music as well comes from that place of passion and love. Perhaps the connection between them is only one in feeling, but it’s there none the less.

Cyril shakes his head—at this point he’s just thinking over these things to keep from worrying about the situation, of the news he’s about to get. He focuses on Amelia, and he takes a breath. “What news then?”

“Shh, it’s my turn to be the leader!” Amelia straightens up, and then she announces to the room. “We’re here because these two gods sponsored humans to take the challenge to have a chance of immortality in the Heavenly Kingdom! Matthew- a young follower of Jule- and Alfred- a follower of Cyril- took the tests in the Kingdom of Death to prove themselves!”

“We all know this!” Anya says from behind Amelia. “You just like hearing yourself talk.”

“Shut up! It’s a ceremony right?? We gotta make sure everything looks cool and official!” She turns to glare at Anya, looking not at all cool or official.

Marianne takes the chance to seize control of the moment. “First, we’ll present the results of Matthew’s test—“ Cyril’s expression gets irritated, and he wonders how long this is going to take. Marianne has the gall to flash him a teasing smirk. “He has been training with paint and panting, and he passed his initial test and took the elixir.”

Next to Cyril, Jule sits up straighter and looks to the door at the opposite side of the room. It comes open now, and Matthew walks through. His hair is more golden now, his eyes a light shade of purple. He’s dressed in a flowing sort of robe belted at the waist, and he’s  got smudges of paint on his face, hands, and clothes. He looks like some sort of mischievous little elf. Perhaps Cyril might still be a little jealous after all.

Matthew makes quite a pretty picture like this.

“I looked into his eyes myself,” Marianne says. “And saw that the Elixir of the Gods deemed him fit to be a Muse of the Arts- painting specifically.”

With the whole room looking at him, Matthew is quite red in the face, but when he sees Jule, he rushes forward a few steps. Then he pauses to offer respect to the Elder Gods- one deep low bow. They all study him just as Cyril is, then he hurries over to sit at Jule’s side. Cyril sees that Jule’s hands are shaking as he lays one gently on Matthew’s knee.

“Well done,” Jule murmurs to him. 

When he tries to pull his hand away, Matthew catches his fingers and holds his hand in front of the entire assemblage of gods. Cyril wonders if his new status as a demi-god- is that what muses were? Demi-gods?- has made Matthew more bold. He doesn’t think on it long though. Amelia clears her throat.  

“And now for Alfred,” Amelia says. “He was given a proper warrior’s test and was willing to lay down his life for his comrades, but his transformation wasn’t completely what we expected.”

Cyril is on his feet instantly, heart in his throat. He had known something was wrong, that something went wrong with his test. None of these goddesses had looked… sorry or guilty or sorrowful so Cyril had thought perhaps it was fine, but… “What do you mean? Where is he?”

“Hold your horses,” Amelia says back, looking peeved at being interrupted again. “I was the one who looked into his eyes and saw his new designation. He’s not simply an aspect of war. Alfred—,” here the doors come open, and Alfred steps through it. “Alfred is an aspect of Death as well. The guardian of the souls who die heroically- the God of Self Sacrifice. That’s why Kiku is here, because both Cyril and Kiku will have to train him.”

But Cyril isn’t really listening at this point. His whole world has been reduced to the newly divine god standing in the door. Alfred looks taller now somehow, newfound power radiating off of him, and his blue eyes are brighter. He has a tear in the chest plate of his armor on one side, and he can see thick ichor bleeding from a wound through his heart. At his side, he wears the sword that Cyril had gifted him, and everything about him seems amplified.

Cyril has always been quite sweet on Alfred even as a human, and he is completely taken by the vision he is now. All he wants is to take his new aspect home. He looks away from Alfred for a minute to find all the goddesses looking at him with reluctance. Somehow he can tell they’re all worried, all on edge. They think, no doubt, that he’s going to kick up a fuss about having to time share Alfred with Kiku.

Usually they’d be right, but after spending several days thinking his favorite new human is dead, well, sharing him seemed like a small burden. He grins at them all, oozing with pride, as he strides across the room. He offers Alfred his hand, and though Alfred blushes at the attention, he doesn’t say anything as he takes hold of it. They shake hands there in front of the others, and the tension in the room is gone.

The goddesses clap for them, but Cyril has no patience for any more ceremony. He is itching to go home, and he knows that Jule feels the same way. It’s not so easy though, because the goddesses each take a turn to introduce themselves to Matthew and Alfred. The two of them both accept the attention and the praise, but they do look a little tired the longer it lasts.

No wonder. Cyril has never taken the elixir that humans are given to obtain their immortality, but the whole idea of a medicine that changed your very make up doesn't sound like it goes down easy. Finally, after much ceremony, they’re free to go. Kiku does come up briefly to speak to Alfred about his training, and then the four of them- Jule, Matthew, Alfred, and Cyril- leave together. They walk in a group, quiet at first. Jule is on one side of Matthew and Alfred is on the other.

Cyril walks at Alfred’s side and feels a stab of envy that Matthew is still holding on to Jule’s hand. Even if he tried, he doubts that Alfred would allow him to hold his hand, and so Cyril thinks maybe the attempt should wait until they’re alone.

“I’ve never been out much in the Heavenly Kingdom,” Matthew says, squeezing Jule’s hand. “It’s quite nice.”

Alfred looks about him, and he lets out a long happy sigh. “Much better than the Underworld.”

Matthew nods, and he glances over at Alfred, an almost teasing smile on his face. “Yes, agreed. Less ghosts for one.“ 

"Yeah, ghosts…” Alfred shivers and something tells Cyril Alfred has some apprehensions about his new assignment. 

Before he can ask about them, Matthew says, “I’m going to head back with Jule now. I’m supposed to live there while he trains me on how to use my powers.”

Alfred nods, and Matthew hurries Jule on towards their temple. Cyril is pretty sure that this eagerness to rush off is less about ‘settling in’ and more about a bit of romantic alone time, but he doesn’t feel like prying right now. Usually he would, but for right now he only has eyes for Alfred. The quiet between them is heavier and more awkward when the other two leave.

“I’m to, uh, live at your place. There will be a guest room set up in the Underworld for me in case I ever need to be there for any sort of time, but…”

“You can live with me. I expected you to live in my home,” Cyril says, and he feels excited, jittery. He’s desperately trying to act composed and cool. “I had a room made up for you near mine.”

“Ahhh, thank you then.”

They walk next to each other, and just as Alfred could feel Cyril’s power before, Cyril can feel Alfred’s now. Not as powerful as his own, but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling. Power thrumming in that muscular body of his… It’s definitely exciting.

“I felt it, you know,” Cyril says, giving him a sidelong glance. “You died, didn’t you? I felt it… I’m your patron, but I couldn’t feel you, even after you drank the elixir and revived. I was… I was worried.”

Then Alfred turns to him and gives him a searching look. “Yeah, they said that might be true, once I was put under Kiku’s aspect when he pardoned me…” He hesitates, cheeks turning pink, before he lays a hand on Cyril’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I worried you. Thank you for, you know, everything.”

Cyril’s cheeks turn pink too, and he nods, unable to keep from grinning. “You’re welcome, golden boy. Let’s go home.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

They walk together through Heaven, both looking embarrassed but satisfied.

—

Jule is shaking when they’re alone in his temple house, fingers sliding through Matthew’s hair before cupping his face. They’re sitting on his bed, and Jule can’t seem to stop touching him. It’s almost as though Jule is reassuring himself that Matthew is real and whole and there with him. Relief and worry are obvious on his face, and Matthew aches a little for him.

Sitting still, Matthew lets Jule take his comfort, and he shivers somewhat as Jule’s hands trail down along his neck. Then, Jule slides his hands down his shoulders and arms before moving to trace his sides and the outside of his thighs. Matthew’s own hands are on his knees while his love assures himself of his safety. Finally, Jule leans in and very gently kisses Matthew’s lips.

“I worried you, didn’t I?” Matthew asks as he climbs up to straddle Jule’s lap. “You were scared for me.”

Now, Jule nods and moves to bury his face in against Matthew’s neck. He wraps his arms around him, fingers still trembling as they press against his back, and he keeps him close. Matthew simply smiles and kisses his hair, keeping his hands busy by rubbing Jule’s back soothingly.

“I came back to you. The trial–,” Matthew starts, but Jule interrupts.

“Nothing of the trial now. Soon we’ll talk about that, but now, I want to relax with you.”

Matthew smiles and kisses his hair again. “Then let’s relax. Calm down. I look really good this way huh?” He has to admit the divine level up had been to his favor. There were certain blemishes that he’d lost in the conversion, and sometimes, if he wasn’t careful, he’d glow just a bit. Almost angelic, he thinks. He’s modest most of the time, but teasing Jule now seemed like it might help him calm down.

Instead, Jule pulls back to look up into his eyes. “You have always been beautiful. Always. Not because of how handsome you are but because of your kindness.” He presses his hand to Matthew’s chest, just above his heart. “Your beauty, where it counts, hasn’t been changed at all.”

Cheeks becoming hot, Matthew presses his lips to Jule’s. Then he says, “You are unbelievably sweet.”

Jule doesn’t respond to the compliment directly, but he turns to lay Matthew out on his bed. “How I’ve missed you,” Jule murmurs as he climbs over him.

“And I, you,” Matthew replies before Jule leans in to punctuate this pronouncement with a kiss. They settle down together to celebrate Matthew’s successful return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art of Alfred's transformation by sweetheart [ vi-6w6](http://vi-6w6.tumblr.com)!!


	16. Divine Endings

Matthew has spent the last few nights in Jule’s bed, and few things could ever seem more like heaven. He has work to do during the day which he supposes is a pretty equal trade off. The new job is a fulfilling one, and one that takes him down to Earth too. It’s strange, though, because a lot of humans can’t even see or feel him there unless he wants them too. This is apparently true for all gods, and he figures it makes some amount of sense. Unseen, he’ll drift through the crowd, and he’ll find whichever poor artist needs a bit of inspiration. 

The thought of the job had caused more stress than the job itself. Once he got close, he could almost feel what kind of inspiration the artists needed, and then all he had to do was give them some little jolt, a quick surge of his power. Then suddenly the artist would have their inspiration, and they’d be filled with the excitement that comes with creation. Matthew would stay, watching, and reach out now and then to guide their hands…

Then he’d leave. Simple enough and yet also rather fulfilling for him. He enjoyed being able to help fellow artists flourish and grow. The only hiccup was that the other painters in Jule’s manor who had been their longer didn’t really like being suddenly outranked by him. They were his seniors, after all, and it made sense that they wouldn’t want someone junior to them suddenly becoming a leader.

But they start to realize that just being in Matthew’s presence is enough to inspire them. Just having him sitting close makes their hands steadier and their minds clearer. One by one, they start to adore him almost as much as Jule, and the newfound popularity doesn’t always sit well with Jule.

He’s not really a jealous god, but after feeling as though he nearly lost Matthew once, he doesn’t particularly like to catch the painters flirting with his muse.

Matthew thinks it’s pretty cute.

—

Alfred is busy at first in heaven. Hard not to be when you suddenly have two gods both trying to train you and get to know you better. Alfred’s room is, indeed, rather close to Cyril’s, and he can’t even head to bed without encountering him. The air between them is still awkward and heavy, and Alfred still remembers that dream-like place with the sunflowers. Tommy’s lips… when he thinks about it, he can almost feel those lips on his own again.

Sometimes he wonders if Cyril’s would be the same, but despite the fact that Cyril flirts with him and gives him plenty opportunities to try, it’s always too embarrassing and irritating for him to do it. Especially since they’ve been spending so much time together, one on one, training in combat and in the protocol of the Heavenly Army. Sometimes Eliza comes to help, and he’s always a bit grateful. It’s less awkward with her there.

One afternoon, they’d spent the majority of their time training before a cool off of protocol review.

Cyril arched his brow and he says, “In your Earth regiment you shake hands and bow and stuff right? When you see an upper ranked office, what do you do?”

“Well, bow of course.”

“I thought so. In Heaven it’s different. In Heaven, you have to give them a kiss on the cheek.” Cyril’s grin is wide, and the expression in his eyes is wicked. “You’re a god now, so most won’t outrank you but for those who do…”

Narrowing his eyes, Alfred straightens up and glares at him. “This sounds really fishy. You’re just trying to get a kiss, aren’t you…?”

Cyril smiles and shrugs just a bit. “I’d never lie about something like that~” He looks over at Eliza who’s standing a bit to Alfred’s left hand side. “Would I Eliza?”

Turning to her now, Alfred arches a brow. “I’ve never seen her kiss you…”

There’s a moment of silence then as they all look at each other. Alfred wonders if it’s true, or if he’s being messed with, but Eliza wouldn’t lie… would she? Who really knew… both of them seemed rather teasing. Straight face never once cracking, Eliza steps forward, gives a ceremonious little bow, and then leans in to kiss Cyril’s cheeks. Although Cyril goes a little pink, Eliza is just as straight faced as ever, and Alfred decides to believe her. So he follows her lead. He steps forward to offer that same sort of bow before leaning in to kiss Cyril’s cheek.

Cyril is smirking when he pulls back. “Very good,” he says, approval in his voice.

All good and well for Cyril perhaps, but Alfred is red faced and embarrassed. He’s not really good at controlling his magic yet, and when he gets embarrassed or angry or frustrated, he can’t seem to keep the glamour up that hides his full godly form. He can feel the ichor bleeding from his chest beneath his practice armor, and he knows that he really should escape soon.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Are we done then…? For today that is? I want to go see my brother. I haven’t really gotten to talk to him since we got swept up in the whole trial thing.”

“You may go. Tell Jule hi for me~”

“Of course!” Alfred nods to them both before turning on his heel to stride away.

—

“That was a mean joke you played on him,” Eliza says as Alfred disappears back into Cyril’s home.

“That you helped me play,” Cyril counters archly. “…and anyway now that he’s a god the amount of people that outrank him are pretty small. Like, I do, because I’m the head god of the whole Heavenly Army, but most of the other aspects of War are on the same level as him, so it’s fine. He won’t meet many that he’d have to do that with.”

“Besides you, you mean.” Eliza seems more amused than judgmental though. “Well, it’s pretty cute and gallant anyways. I’m sure he’ll realize it was a lie once he sees you with other recruits and lieutenants and so forth.”

“If he’s paying attention maybe…” But Cyril isn’t really concerned. He had his new favorite in his home and that’s really what he’s had wanted. He’s pretty happy about how things turned out.

“I wanted to ask after him actually,” Eliza says, gazing up at the window of the room she knows is Alfred’s. “He’s my comrade now, and I know that sudden divinity must be hard. He doesn’t even have a handle on the glamour part yet…”

“He doesn’t,” he replies, laughing quietly. “When he gets too emotional or worked up, it always wears off and there’s the ichor pouring out of his bloody wound. He’ll get better at that… it’s more the strength I’m worried about.”

“The strength??”

Cyril runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah… that’s a little more difficult. He’s stronger now, physically, and he has certain powers that war gods use to fight- elemental magic, largely of the fire variety. We are, after all, supposedly of Amelia more than the other Elder Gods... And Alfred has not only broken a few pieces of furniture flopping down on it or trying to move it, he’s also set a few on fire when he gets worked up and ranting about something or the other. First time he got angry and tried to slam the door on me, he broke it clean off the wall.”

The news of this makes Eliza laugh. “Other than some burnt chairs and some broken doors, he’s adjusting well.”

“Seems to be,” Cyril says. “I think the ghost thing is more difficult for him than the warrior part.”

Elizabeta winces. “Oh right he told me about that. He’s got to help with the souls of the Underworld. He told me he’d start with that soon, but he seems pretty scared of them… will that really be okay?”

Cyril shrugs. “I guess it’ll have to be… We’ll just have to trust Kiku to train him well, huh?”

“I suppose we shall…” Elizabeta straightens up and turns to him, giving him a firm hand shake. “Treat him well, Cyril. He may be a god now, but he’s still got a young heart.”

“Of course,” he replies, and he waves as she walks away. He might be teasing his young new charge to distraction some days, but the last thing he wants to do is hurt Alfred. He’d be as gentle as he could with him when… or rather if Alfred ever did accept his advances.

Cyril isn’t sure he will… none of his advances so far had worked, but for now, just having Alfred close is wonderful enough.

—

“So you’re settling in,” Alfred says as he sits down in the room that Jule had specifically made for Matthew in his home.

Honestly, sometimes Matthew wondered why because he’d never slept in it, but Jule had been adamant that Matthew should have his own little sanctuary in the temple for when he ever needed to be alone. Also, now that the painters have warmed to him, he needs a place to put the gifts and offerings they bring to him. A minor amount of worship, surely, but still a bit embarrassing none the less.

“I am,” Matthew says. “I have new quarters now, and the painters seem to like me rather a lot. How about you?”

“Well,” Alfred says, cheeks turning a bit pink. “Cyril’s a bit of a flirt, but he’s a good leader. He’s been training me. I’ve been to the underworld a few times too, though now I can just—ZAP! and I’m in the palace. No more ghost walks.”

Matthew watches him as he talks, and he smiles, realizing just how happy his brother is. It had been a bit of a shock to see him, to find him alive. They’d embraced at the time, and Matthew is embarrassed to think about how he started to cry- sob really- in relief in front of the Elder Goddesses...

But then they’d been hurried on. Into clothes, into rooms to prepare and to be given speeches about their powers, about what their lives were going to be like. They had no time to talk and reconnect after their violent parting in the Underworld.

“You're going to be helping ghosts soon though right?” Matthew asks. “Maybe you should start practicing by walking through the Underworld.”

Alfred shakes his head and makes a face. “Yeah no thanks. I don’t want to. Kiku is supposed to help me with that anyways, so it’ll be okay… maybe…”

Matthew laughs and pulls his knees up to his chest, admiring his brother’s face and relieved again to find him alright. Finally, he says, “We never did get to talk about things did we? It was all a big blur after the raid on the monster’s home.”

“It was…” Alfred winces and reaches out to pat Matthew’s leg. “It’s... it was harder for you, I think, than me though...”

“What?” Matthew’s expression changes, and he shakes his head. “You were the one that died. That has to be a lot worse.”

“I don’t... I don’t think so,” Alfred replies slowly. “Dying was kinda peaceful after I lost enough blood that I couldn’t really concentrate. It was just a hazy blur of pain and color before fading out to nothing, but for you. You had to watch me die... I’ve... I’ve had comrades die in front of me. It’s pretty much the worst thing. Even the thought of seeing you die is—”

“Don’t talk like that. We won our immortality, and we don’t have to worry about that anymore. Don’t… just don’t think about it.” Matthew smiles and leans his face on his knees. “I won’t lie… going on with my test after you… yeah. It was rough. I…” Here Matthew smiles and looks embarrassed. “I painted a portrait of you on the walls of the Underworld.”

“Oh right yeah!” Alfred laughs and leans back. “Kiku showed it to me. You helped him draw bunny rabbits. Those were really cute.”

The news is a bit of a jolt to Matthew, and he laughs again. “You mean that that kid was Kiku in disguise?! But he was a little ghost! I thought I was helping a real ghost!”

“Nope, apparently, he was part of your test the way that Yong Soo was part of mine. To see what you’d do. You helped him and taught him—He got a little red when he talked about it. Maybe he likes you~”

Matthew makes a face at this and shakes his head. “He’s really shy Alfred. I’ve only seen him a few times, and he’s been flustered and a bit red every time. Cause of you or Amelia or, well, anyone.”

“Yeahhhh,” he replies. “Cyril says that’s cause he’s a shut in. Said that he doesn’t like to leave the Underworld. That’s a little weird but I guess we all prefer being home.”

There’s another moment of silence as they both think that over.

In a quiet voice, Matthew asks, “And is this… is this home for you? Heaven, I mean, but also…Cyril’s house?”

“I think it could well become my home. I’m still getting used to it. You lived with Jule before all this so you’re probably fine huh?”

“I am… But I’m so much happier now. To have you here and safe, I mean.”

Alfred stands and comes over to him, and Matthew stands to embrace him tightly. Alfred rubs his back when he’s afraid that Matthew might cry again, but he doesn’t. Finally he pulls back, eyes just a bit wet.

“I’m gonna get you back though,” Matthew tells him. “For making me worry like that.”

In response, Alfred just laughs. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

—

Jule is sitting in his garden looking up at the stars when Matthew finds him. The magic that keeps the humans from finding his little hideaways during the night time- Jule’s time- don’t really work on Matthew anymore. He can see through the spells as easy as looking through glass. Still, Jule isn’t upset. Matthew is the only lover he has at the moment, and it’s not often that this happens. Jule isn’t particularly as interested in pursuing lovers and romance as some of the other gods, but he’s by no means ever all that lonely if he does want a partner. Recently though, his head is full only of Matthew. When his paint-smudged muse makes an appearance, Jule simply smiles and pats the bench beside him.

“Good evening, My Lord,” Matthew says as he comes close, expression one of teasing amusement. Really, he’d been right before about the changes- now his face practically glows with youth and mischief and beauty.

Instead of sitting, Matthew leans in and kisses his lips. He’s bolder now that he’s gained his new status, and Jule is happy for it. Of course, Jule had intended to work Matthew up as they went, because he wouldn’t want to have a lover treat him as some untouchable god all the time. It’s always hard with young devout humans like Matthew, but now, he’s on more equal footing with Jule. 

Honestly, this can only make their relationship all the more fulfilling. Matthew would seek him out for kisses and for conversations, for guidance and affection. Before he had always waited on Jule to summon him, and Matthew’s dreams- for Jule had seen them- were full of romantic summons to various parts of the temple. It had actually be rather torturous for a while. Matthew was celibate when he came to his temple, and Jule hadn’t wanted to spoil that if his follower had intended to stay that way. Though he didn’t require celibacy in any case, Jule would respect that show of religious respect if Matthew had chosen it. With Matthew radiating such feelings of longing and want, it had been maddening not to just bring him to bed.

Thankfully, Matthew had decided not to remain celibate, and Jule thinks they’re both rather better for it. Matthew finally takes the invitation to sit, but he decides that Jule’s lap is much more comfortable than the bench. Jule doesn’t mind this arrangement much either, and he holds him close against his chest.

“It’s a lovely night,” he says softly. “I’m glad you decided to join me.”

“I wanted to see you out here again,” Matthew says softly, and he kisses Jule’s neck. “You look so good in the moonlight, My Lord~”

Though Jule blushes somewhat, he tilts his head for more kisses like that. Oh yes, a bolder Matthew is definitely preferable. Beyond the fact that it meant Matthew was more comfortable now with him, it also means that Jule no longer has to worry if Matthew is only going along with what his god wants.

“So forward with your compliments,” Jule says softly, one hand coming to stroke through Matthew’s hair. “I’ve told you before that you don’t have to call me that anymore right?”

“Oh I know,” he replies, kissing gently at the edge of his jaw. “I like to sometimes. I think it sounds… appealing. One of lower rank out in the gardens getting kisses from the Master. Yes, I think that’s quite appealing.”

Jule shivers at all the implications thick in his sweet lover’s voice. “Your divinity has made you bolder.”

“Perhaps,” Matthew says, laughing and pulling back to look into his eyes. “But I’m sure that being treated like a returning prince when I got back from the Underworld was really good encouragement.”

“I had hoped to impress upon you how important you are,” Jule replies. He gazes into his sweet Matthew’s eyes and he hesitates just a little. “You are happy then? In my house? You’ll have no regrets in your change of form?”

Matthew strokes a hand through Jule’s hair, and he smiles indulgently. “My family is here, my greatest love is here, and I have a job now to inspire and help other artists. There’s no way I could ever regret this.”

Relieved, Jule rubs his back and nods. “That is good to hear then. I’m not sure I could’ve given you up even if you had answered differently.”

“No worries there.” Matthew is still looking into his eyes, and so Jule sees the exact moment when his expression changes from loving to naughty. “Now why has My Lord called me out to the garden so very late at night? What job to you have for me?”

Not only had Matthew abandoned his celibacy with very little guilt, he seemed almost insatiable. Jule supposes that this made a certain amount of sense. Matthew has just discovered the pleasure of physical intimacy with a beloved partner, and he wants to explore and experience it more. Jule wants to tell him that they have all the time in the world to enjoy each other, but it’s so easy to get swept up Matthew’s passion.

So instead he replies, “A well-laid trap. My loveliest servant lured out at night so that I could steal kisses.”

His own words make him blush, but Matthew only seems even more pleased. “A villain!” he gasps, and he is on his feet as though he might flee. It takes Jule a moment to realize that he is supposed to give chase, and so he leaps to his feet as well.

“Come back! I haven’t dismissed you!” So Jule gives chase around his garden, and when he manages to catch him, he shares slow sweet kisses with him... only to have Matthew slip out of his arms to flee into the flowers again. Jule smiles and gives chase, and by the end of their play, he’s rather sure he’s kissed Matthew in every corner of his garden.

Indeed, Matthew is well suited for his job as a muse, and Jule can hardly wait to put his brush to canvas. Though he doubts the whole of Matthew’s beauty can be captured in a painting, the image of Matthew standing beneath bunches of lovely pink flowers stays stuck in Jule’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is be a short, 2 part sequel (maybe even three part!) just about Alfred becoming accustomed to his new job, learning how to deal with spirits, and dealing with Cyril and their own budding relationship. It’ll be called “Romancing the War God” and I’ll be posting it up soon. This fic has had a lot of Jule/Matthew focus, and the bits about Alfred and Cyril in their new arrangement would take more time and space than Jule and Matthew’s closing action. I felt it would be better to give Alfred/Cyril their own space instead of feeling guilty that there was less Jule-Matthew at the end of Holy War. Jule and Matthew have come to a lovely little arrangement, and in the next fic, it’ll be Cyril and Alfred finding their own equilibrium.
> 
> It’ll also finally deal with Cyril finding out about “Tommy” so please look forward to it. <3


End file.
